This light is such that I don’t want to go,
and leave these trees whose whispers make me hear
the ancient stories that they seem to know
as over land a mist is spread from sea.
This mist is such that I don’t want to leave,
I wait to hear the soft drops fall on soil,
like tears they do, in unseen fading grief
that can’t be spoken of in other ways.
But comes the night, I need to find my road,
go back to where I never knew this rest,
to shelter there, what must be my abode
until the day emerges from its sleep.
I shall return and dwell to be at ease
where light and mist make home for thought and peace.