Without your circling arm
I feel my soul is trembling like a leaf
that clings on in the worst of a fierce gale
yet will drop into black mud far beneath
though briefly through some sunshine it may fall.
I am as nothing trodden into earth
And lower than the lowest living beast,
I make no estimation of my worth
and for the worms I shall provide a feast.
At first I thought that I could ride the storm
That I could live without your circling arm
But truth has taken hold of me entire.
The choice is death by mud or death by fire.
I see I am now trampled with earth's dust
No more to be an object of mere lust