Late spring has kissed awake the walnut tree, Snap dragons, wide-eyed lambs, the honey-bee, Small rivers trailing blossom from the bough— Yet you are all I seek of England now. The land renews! — but not its mortal kind, And we have left our springtimes far behind, The snow is on our peaks, the creeks run dry; I stare more at my feet than at the sky. A life I’ve lived of laughter, aye, and pain, A race that I would gladly run again, But only with your gentle fingers pressed To soothe this famished monster in my breast. Soon now, I think, my spirit must depart, And journey where I know not. Yet, dear heart, If all impatient, first, your soul should steal, Turn but your face — to find me at your heel!
Mandalay, Mustique May 1, 2003
For a pioneer Mustique homeowner and his lovely wife who died within a short time of each other following a last scuba dive together.
Poem Published in the following books: Island of Dreams