Go gently, dearest friend—
Beneath bedazzled evergreens, a dog at your laces,
and say in wisps of Western wind to the
dancing fawns of wheat, what
soul it is you love, and how much, and to the end, no matter—
Go with promise, my love—
Make yourself proud before
the gazing stars, before the
tendril and the towering pine, before
the light of sunshine caps the path
no more again tomorrow,
and tomorrow.