Root yourself in this earth
and it will root itself in you.

When the last leaf falls,
what will die within us?

What melody will our rivers remember if songbirds forget how to sing?

The child I was
is just one breath away from me.

The air is like a butterfly/ With frail blue wings/ The happy earth looks at the sky/ And sings.

Whoever, when he dies, leaves on paper a beautiful line of poetry has left the heavens richer and the earth too.