this is not the end [i promise]:

Tame them talons, boy,

with stamen and stalks.

The flowers done told me.

The trees: They done talked

some whispers in leaves and they say-ed

you gon' come 

all worn and torn and

run, boy, run.

Sweaty

and tawney

and weary

you walked.

Snowy

and solemn

and rolled and

you rocked.

And when you was

weakened you

kneeled and you

crawled

all embers and ashes

and cradle and all.

Was you wild when stoked?

And cold when you falled?

Oaths is for wolfs, prisons, and yaks

yowling in yokes with worlds on they backs.

They's for lawmens and laymens and womens who birth,

for the sore and the tired,

for the weak,

for the hurt.

Wealth o' welts from the whip

on yo' spine and yo' hips.

Boy, I'm yo' friend.

Death sweet on the lips.

I know you tired from

them troubles you faced.

Come rest in these waters.

Come, boy, and taste.