The Return

This wind will blow in centuries to be
Across a sweep of undulating grey:
And every bloom that decks our cherry tree
To seek a new nativity
Drifts down upon its way.
The lilting whisper from this timeless sea
Will throb and swell in ages yet unborn.
And every bird that slants along the lea
To seek its own eternity
Swoops out toward the dawn.
When you return, in aeons yet to be
Released from chains of death and birth

You'll find a sweet tranquility
And beauty on this earth.

—S. G. M.