This is a story I deticate to my dad, who died of cancer, March 29, 2004
I dont own this poem.
I Shall Come Back
By Hilda Conkling, Age 10, 1922
I shall be coming back to you
From seas, rivers, sunny meadows, glens that hold secrets:
I shall come back with my hands full
Of light and flowers...
I shall bring back things that I have picked up,
Traveling this road to the other,
Things found by the sea or in the pinewood.
There will be a pine-cone in my pocket,
Grains of pink sand in my fingers.
I shall tell you of a golden pheasant's feather...
Will you know me?