Death, part three.

III. Reed

I'm a reed
on the banks of the river.
I tell a story,
and the wind
gives me the colours.
Pearl of the South,
Black of the North,
Grey of the East,
and Rose of the West.
I'm a reed,
I'm the story I tell.
Sometimes I wish I could stop
and savour a wind:
I breathe in and dream,
and westward I gaze.
The sunset is near.