Last Leave

THIS flesh is substance of this dirt and stone
Since it was nurtured from a scanty fare
My father wrought from dirt he did not own
On slopes too steep and stubborn to compare,
I never knew how painful it would be
To leave this land with freedom of the fox
Where I have been a brother to the tree,
Where there is elbowroom among these rocks.
This blood goes deeper here than roots of fern
That cling tenaciously to rocky bluff;
These eyes have been quite able to discern
Upon these jutted slopes beauty enough.
These ears have heard good music from the streams
That carry lonesome waters from the coves;
Here is one place this brain is filled with dreams
As I stand here among my many loves.