Face flush with the cold,
She comes, with the wind laughing at her back
Across our threshold once more,
And in moments it is as though she'd never left.
Every room brightens invisibly with her prescence
As she moves here and there in her easy ways,
Dispelling discontents with artless word and act
As drops of clear oil will still a pond disturbed by wind.
She is fully unconcious of her gifts,
And so they radiate from her with undiminished power.
And now, exhausted from relentless work and scholarship
She lies asprawl on her old bed,
Dear old cat cradled in one arm,
Cooing softly in her sleep like a dove,
Just as she did when small,
An eternal yesterday ago.
And what can I do with that,
Save retire to my own room and glow?