The word I spoke in anger br weighs less than a parsley seed, br but a road runs through it br that leads to my grave, br that bought-and-paid-for lot br on a salt-sprayed hill in Truro br where the scrub pines br overlook the bay. br Half-way I'm dead enough, br strayed from my own nature br and my fierce hold on life. br If I could cry, I'd cry, br but I'm too old to be br anybody's child.