I heard them calling out all your names,
by the tree grove, and I passed you by;
to seek the sunlit path, I lean on the sky.
You might ask me who they were, those
I’ve left behind me, but they were merely
those who gather, a people without mine.
And who are they but they who are truly
with me always as I wander on onwards,
looking for that warm spot to rest and write.
Tell me I have, there, right upon your heart.