When I get to heaven, tell me there will
still be woods,
Where
a sauntered pace
May
be had without needing to keep
One’s
bearings of time or space,
Forests
with birds and creatures
And
bits of splendor that take breath away:
Spring
Beauties and Forget-Me-Nots,
Summer’s
ferns and fungus,
Autumn
leaves that crackle afoot
Belying
midwinter’s absurd stillness;
And,
yes, one with whom to walk who enjoys it as I, or as You.
I do love the woods.
When I get to heaven, tell me there will
still be canoes,
That skim cold, pristine lakes,
Leaving
wakes
That
last not long,
By
quiet stroke and firm hand
Easing
gently over mirror calm,
Or bobbing swell and wave
Into
bright, hidden bays
Where
eagles nest and loons dive,
Or
sliding into dark, night water
Silver
by moonshine all the way to rocky shore.
I do love canoes.
When I get to heaven, tell me there will
still be seasons,
When color palates fly --
January’s
blazing whites,
Lupine’s spring, a rainbow’s July,
Aspen’s or maple’s fall,
Living
greens, waning yellows, dying reds,
Late
summer suns whose early setting
Have
always made me sad
These
things have to end,
Like
winter hearth-fires that blaze like those suns
But
then look so cold when the morning comes.
I do love seasons.
And if there be foolishness in me
For laying such earthly hope upon heaven’s
landscape,
Have mercy on me, Lord:
I love this world you made.
It’s what I know.
(Endnote: I saw the rough idea for this poem many years ago, anonymously cited, so it’s not
completely original to me. But at that time, I added significantly to it and
adapted it so extensively that I cannot now recall what was original and what
is mine. To this day, though, I am still unable to come up with a source, so if
any part of it sounds familiar to you and you can set me straight, I’d
appreciate you letting me know so I may give credit appropriately. Thanks.)
~~ RGM, October 31 2015
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