Dear Miss Rossetti, I remember you
long though it is since you have gone away.
Perhaps when you turned it was late for you;
yet your words counsel me and help me pray.
Though darkness and corruption worry, still,
a vestige of your thoughts also remains.
I mark your footprints on the road uphill
and seek myself the inn toward which you strained.
I’ve felt the weight of sorrow and sea-sand
and seen the brevity of spring and youth;
I’ve thought at times I’d almost seen the wind,
and all but drowned in ocean depths of truth.
I hear the bird sing in the apple tree,
and long for that birthday to come to me.
~ Rebekah Choat