From Leavings, a book of poetry by Wendell Berry:
So many times I've gone away
from here, where I'd rather be
than any place I know, to go
off into the air for which
my only gift is breath, for I have
of myself no wings. It is death.
Farewell, my dearest ones.
Farewell, my lovely fields. Farewell,
my grazing flock, my patient horses,
Maggie my ardent dog. Farewell,
tall woods always so full of song.
However long I've stayed away,
coming home is resurrection. The man
who has gone comes back to his place
as he would come naked and cold
into his own clothes. And they
are here, the known beloved: family,
neighbors obliging and dear. The dead,
too, denying their graves, haunt
the places they were known in and knew,
field and barn, riverbank and woods.
The familiar animals all are here.
Coming back is brightening in a grave,
such is the presage of old hymns.
To the place we parted from in sorrow
we return in joy: the beautiful shore,
eternal morning, unclouded day.
Poem posted in celebration of the fact that Mom is HOME! Greeted by Sophie the dog and Sarge the cat and grandchildren and puffy white clouds, she has been resurrected one more time. And one more time we are filled with gratitude.