Should you cross the river before me,
hesitate a moment.
Wait, I'll be along.
The frog's song
guides me.
Flying crows
light a moon map.
And the fireflies
beacon my way.
I'll be right along.
Grief and longing
will speed me.
But, if I cross
before you,
I will camp
there waiting,
playing songs
to guide you.
Don't hurry.
Taste for us
the wines once more.
Picnic in the
iris field.
Press dry
another white rose.
See another sunrise
above the fog
in the Berkeley hills.
Etch in memory
the last beauty mists.
We will want
those memories.
Bid all good-by
for us.
Take your time.
I'll wait.
Pack carefully.
I will be there.
Then no river
between us.