It rained last night
and all the fields were wet with tears,
there’s an old oak in the forest glen
I visit every now and then
even he looked sad today
something told him you must go upon your journey,
that you would slip away.

. . . now, in this twilit hour,
with streaks of purple, red and yellow in the sky
I wondered why
in that half-light of the day
you left, without a kiss good-by,

. . . but, in your leaving eyes
a faintly flickering smile, and all around the darkening eaves
drifting summer sunlit leaves,
across the meadow wind-blown flowers,
magic moments, memories, all my ivory towers,
behind it all that which you really are,
no fear, no dread,
there’s no such thing as being dead.