Lake and Forest

I am not a daughter of the river
Nor am I a child of the ocean
I have learned to love the forests better—
Feel the green, and watch the branches quiver
Under squirrels, and all their frantic motion.
I have learned to love the lake's devotion—
See the vastness of the stars still shiver
From the ripples, wild and unfettered;

I have caught the stars within my fingers
Dreaming them as liquid as the mirror
Of their brightness, caught upon the waters;
I have learned that nothing ever lingers.

Lake, your shoreline overgrows with lilies
Draped across your surface, light and tilting
Towards the sands that they have long abandoned
For the lullabies of waves. What will be
When the rocking drops have stopped the lilting
Of that half-remembered song, and wilting
Sink within the stillness—waiting 'till he,
Who has been forgotten and long-stranded

In the sea, upon a lonely isle
Sails his wooden boat to fresher waters—
What will happen to those faithful flowers?
Will their love at last be proved worthwhile?

Woods, your flowers share their vast dominion
With a thousand others—fruits and berries,
Leaves and branches, moss and gentle mushrooms—
Riotous in shades and textures when sun
Pours itself upon them all, and tarries
Years and days, until the light it carries
Slips away. O everything has been one
Once before, and as the dark of night looms

Over moss and berries, leaves and branches--
Once again they blend into each other
Red to green, and dusky green to shadows
'Till the colors lose themselves and vanish.  

Once I wondered what path you had taken
Long ago, of which you'd often written
With such care, and such steadfast emotion.
Did you walk amongst the shadows shaken
From the starlight—or did sunshine thicken
Brilliant shades until you fell down, stricken
With the beauty of a world new-wakened?

Once I wondered at your deep devotion.