I remember being planted in the soft Earth. It was warm there, comfortably dark. I slept for ages -- though an aching tension grew within me. Soon the changes came that would change me forever. I grew, and sprouted, yielding what I had to offer life. These grains were taken and ground into fine dust as if having no value at all. I was astonished the Miller would treat me so. Did he not perceive my beauty? Then this dust, the fruits of my time on Earth, were placed in a fire and burnt; mixed with water and kneaded. I was twice baptized then pounded and shaped and pounded again. I asked the Baker: "Why heap your indignites upon me? First the Miller and now you, what ever happened to my dear friend, the Farmer? Why did he release me to such misery?" As if not enough, the Baker took me to the oven and showed me the awful beauties of flame. I was scorched and hardened; my doughy crust became like stone. At the same time I puffed up. My skin was tanned. I became like a proud soldier -- though burning in a fire and begging for escape. Will no one treat me well? At last I emerged, and was whisked away to the table of Bounty. I saw many fruits there, many delicate wines, but they all compared themselves to me, each asserting its superiority. Then the Host plunged his sword into my back and cleaved me in twain. I was cut and cut, not bleeding, but sighing out steam. Even this One did not cherish me! At the instant of my final despair when I thought I could bear no more this Host led me to His lips and bestowed on me His fatal kiss. I passed into His mouth and was ground up -- again -- between His mighty teeth. I traveled down the throat and landed in a lake of searing acid. My life has been pain after pain! an unending torment -- every moment of peace concluded by a new anguish. In that dark and foul place, as the liquids ate my bowels, I contemplated the injustices of life. I thought long and hard, even though my mind was fading... When there was almost nothing left I bade the world goodbye and plunged into my death. This has been the tale of my death; but of the life that came after I can say nothing. Look to the face of my Beloved: In the health of His ruddy glow perhaps you can discern me.