When I die
I wish to do so
Hearing the virile
Wind blow,
And not in some sterile
Hospital wing
Where the living dead
Go to die
And hear not
The wind sing.
A tree grows
It’s branches entwining
With another tree,
Forming a canopy
Under which pass
A lad and his lass.
Seasons pass
And sapplings grow to maturity,
While the lad and lass
We did see
Forever lie
Under sky and tree.
I saw a girl, of sunlight
Who followed me
From tree to tree.
A spirit of delight
Was she,
A nymph of air
Who did so lightly pass
Over the yielding grass,
But one may taste,
But never take
The summer air.
I have no wish to leave
These dark trees.
I drink
The fresh summer air.
For a moment forget my care
And think
On Frost’s poetry,
That o’re shadows me
Alone
I beautify
My home
With flowers
Who’s powers
Are as I.
When I heard
A bird
In a tree
Sing to me
In a park,
I thought that the dark
Imaginings I see,
May not come to be
So many disdain
The life-giving rain
And pray
For a sunny day.
But I
On hearing the rain
Pattering on my window pane,
Or, on looking up to the great sky
And feeling purifying water upon my face,
Give thanks for this green place,
And the flowers that in such profusion sprout,
And pray that we can avoid a drought.
