Sono's Death Poem
Don’t just stand there with your hair turning gray,
Soon enough the seas will sink your little island
So while there is still the illusion of time,
Set out for another shore.
No sense packing a bag.
You won’t be able to lift it into your boat.
Give away all your collections.
Take only new seeds and an old stick.
Send out some prayers on the wind before you sail.
Don’t be afraid.
Someone knows you’re coming.
An extra fish has been salted.
-- Mona Santacroce