" Here the trees show gay and golden, the berries of the rowan stand red among the leaves,
country roads run white out to the sky line, and the canteens hum like beehives with rumours of
I stand up.
I am very quiet. Let the months and years come, they can take nothing from me, they can take
nothing more. I am so alone, and so without hope that I can confront them without fear. The life that has borne me through these years is still in my hands and my eyes. Whether I have subdued
it, I know not. But so long as it is there it will seek its own way out, heedless of the will that is
within me. "