Mother, I need You today.
I need to know my Nature
Is fed by Yours,
As Your rivers are fed by streams.
I need the strength of Your stone,
The patience of Your trees.
The sharpness of Your winter wind
And persistence of Your summer heat.
Steadiness of mountains, faith of saplings.
The sureness of migration to a southern home,
That Mother Nature takes care of her own.
“After great pain a formal feeling comes– The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs; The stiff Heart questions–was it He that bore? And yesterday–or centuries before?
The feet, mechanical, go round A wooden way Of ground, or air, or ought, Regardless grown, A quartz contentment, like a stone.
This is the hour of lead Remembered if outlived, As freezing persons recollect the snow– First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.”
Thank you Ms. Emily Dickinson for penning these words – and to all those who’ve kept them alive.
Posting here for purely selfish reasons. I feel a nudge to keep this poem close. Premonotion? Maybe. Does that scare me? Not at the moment, as it’s been a very difficult year, yet all I’ve needed to persevere has been Divinely provided.