"Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life."
I wonder what these twigs that died
Must be like the things they will be--
If Someone cuts them purposely
I alone, seeing them, just could
Embrace the sadness of their tales;
When sometimes like the way we are
But twigs from which tress so detached,
And eyes are watching from afar
To witness and to celebrate
The wisdom that the twigs may bring:
Though they may not always be
A part of tress--in our hearts they cling.