How can you leave some vital part of yourself
Behind you
On a tract of land that
Somehow became a part of your soul
And when you go back
You find that part of you that you can never find
And the apple tree you loved
The tiny wild Violets
The spring garden with the Daffodils
And feeling whole
Well, it's some sort of feeling
Kind of the best
And you want to scoop
All of yourself up
And say ~ You'll be okay there too
Or anywhere
But does the moss robe everything in green?
Is Spring sunlight the same gladsome hue?
Do ferns grow in families every place you lay your eye?
Does your heart feel at peace?
Do you go forth singing?
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