I played amidst the poplars and the pines
Across the field where we grew orchard grass;
I’d wade the creek and search the sand for signs
Of whatever critter had just passed.
So many years ago, before I left
Those woods for distant colder climes,
I’d never’ve guessed I’d feel bereft
Of land I thought invincible through time.
But even muddy creeks one day will dry,
And lofty pines that once were seeds will fall;
For time—insensitive—will bid us die,
Then life will flourish there to spite it all.
I don’t know what I’ll find when I return
Some many years from now—nor do I care.
I’ll breathe my freshest air at home,
the land for which I’ll ever yearn.