Far lights upon the hill
That I can see here from my door,
The flowers on the sill.
Nasturtiums that are blooming bright,
I shall remember them
And vision them as they blow now
Entangling stem on stem.
The wind as it comes through the pines
Far from across the plain;
The sound upon my low tin roof
of softly echoed rain.
My heart will find new scenes, but oh,
It will come back to these
In many quiet times and seek
Known paths, old dreams, loved trees.