Meditation

It is like a beautiful view
Just over the brow of a hill,
Or a sunset which you can barely see,
Though you press your nose against the window pane;
Or a raindrop, with a million, million reflections,
Or a dream, before you have woken.
Up and listen!
Harken,
Hark to the urgent call!
The pain in my breast it is ebbing,
And the moan of the wind is now far distant.
And the rustling of the great forests,
And the singing of the distant stars,
And the cry,
The cry of my inner Self,
It is fading,
Fading.

(written after the death of our daughter, Andrea)