Not more removed with the long years’increase, <br /> Through hours when storms upon thy roof of clay <br /> Have beat, or when the blossom of the May <br />Has to the fettered winter smiled release, - <br />Not from my heart one thought of thee could cease, <br /> O loved and mourned to-day as on that day <br />When from my sight thy presence passed away, <br />Thou spirit of all gentleness and peace. <br />Nay, in the long, long ways I walk alone, <br /> Still with me! On my brow thy touch is laid <br />Softly, - when all to great my burden grown . . . <br /> And I shall go, serenly, unafraid, <br />Into the dark-well knowing what dear tone- <br /> Whose hand to mine- O thou beloved shade!<br /><br />Ina D. Coolbrith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-last-word-to-my-mother/
