I think of you and remember the forest:
the soft green moss, the towering trees,
the cold clear water in the rippling stream,
the wind sighing through the branches
as if it wanted to talk
of the mysteries hidden there.
There you are, Jana, walking on the path,
wondering how your children will fare
when you leave.
I imagine you feel like a mother robin,
pushing her babies out of the nest
and hoping they are ready to fly.
Letter to a Dying Friend, Jane Hopkins
Go where the water glideth gently ever…
Go listen [to] our own beloved river,
And think of me.
Wander in the forests where the small flower lyeth…
Listen to the dim brook pining as it playeth,
And think of me.
And when the sky is silver pale at even [sic]…
Walk out beneath the solitary heaven,
And think of me.
Think of Me, John Hamilton Reynolds
