How could it be that one day I will say goodbye to all of this and miss the lilac spring, the May times whistling on the wing, and the robin’s kiss? In the summertime, when days and evenings are in rhyme, you will not find me in the grove among the lilies in repose or weeding in the garden path where scented seedlings hold on fast. When autumn falls I’ll cast no shadow on the wall or hear the owl’s haunted hoot high above the rotting root. When all is orange russet red I will not be with you in bed. The day the silent snow descends and lolls to sleep all living friends, I too will slumber in the earth among the seeds and squirrel’s birth. Who will miss me? Who will care? When I am called and no one’s there?”
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Thursday, June 12, 2008
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