If I were leaving the world,
I would lay rosemary at your feet.
I would bring my sons copper pennies,
and overfeed my cat again.
When I had gone,
I would be the sun on winter branches,
our little yellow house
that drinks in the wind,
and an owl under the moon.
Were I to return,
I would find you,
draw you close again,
to walk in threadbare dawn.
No comments:
Post a Comment