I came dragging my feet the whole way.
The end of the path felt contemptuous, like an angry death!
That is exactly what it was – the old me – refusing to die.
I had to let go, it would be the only Way.
I could stay here, at the end and die the slow death of life,
Or I could leap across the divide, to the tiny stone that lay before me.
I would totter there, I could see – space enough for barely one footing.
It was time to go and the only enemy to my leaving was my fear,
But I was never held slave to that for long.
P.S. Just so you know, in the end, I had to be pushed.