The Last Day (Poetry)

All this was new a week ago
since when each hour made it mine —
this view of trees and slanting hill
these seven days but little time
to home me — bind me to this land —
this corner where I’ve found my fill
of inner peace — the whispered song
that’s haunted me my whole life long.

One more day — then I must go
and leave behind these modest rooms
vacate this chair — my borrowed bed
and bid farewell to all that blooms
where Nature planned it — seeded wild
yet in set pattern — green and red
and every shade of blue and gold
coaxed out by sun as buds unfold.

On the horizon gleams the snow
still clinging to the highest crags
I read these clear but subtle signs
I should begin to pack my bags
for someone waits to fill my shoes —
find solace in a stand of pines —
I’ll take with me its healing balm
as souvenir — a sense of calm.