I will die like this,
Alone in a room
When the snow outside is falling,
And the sky a faint gray glow.
Out past my window
The old pear tree grows,
The snow beneath it is deepening
On my field, the land I have known.
I will die alone like this
Watching the snow, alone.
While yonder light is failing,
I’ll watch at my window at home.
—
Harold Bishop grew up on an Illinois farm. He survived alone in the Washington wilderness for a year. He worked in the construction trades and taught school, and he lives in Seattle, Washington.
