Stones on the roots of her tree
We read together
~dkm 184/365
Gone From My Sight
-by Henry van Dyke
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side, spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone."
Gone where?
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast, hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.
And, just at the moment when someone says, “There, she is gone," there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"
And that is dying...
2 comments:
I love this poem! Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for commenting! Re the poem, a writing friend sent it to me when she learned of Sheila's death. I read it with a group of friends on the day of this post when we visited the bald cypress we had planted earlier in Sheila's memory.
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