The springtime shoots are sprouting,
While you have gone away
On a perpetual outing,
Eternity, they say.
They say you have “crossed over,”
Another world beyond
To claim you, fields of clover
Beside a little pond.
I’m yearning to believe it—
If heaven, let there be
A home, nor ever leave it:
I’ll join you greedily.
You left in the wrong season,
But I am left with spring,
With neither rhyme nor reason
But comfort flowers bring.