Green Meadow
I’ll be slipping away like morning
into the bright blue tomorrow;
before you realize I’m gone,
I will be there, where
the yellow flowers bloom.
What matter of air, or earth, or space
can keep me from my hour
in that so green meadow
where the yellow flowers grow
wild up toward the sun.
Every moment is tending
to a natural conclusion;
stream to river runs,
to field, to flower.
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