Departure

Be it sight, sound, smell, or touch,
There's something inside, that we need so much.
The sight of a touch, or the scent of a sound,
Or the strength of an oak, with roots deep in the
ground.
The wonder of flowers, to be covered, and then to
burst up,
Through tarmac, to the sun again, or to fly to the sun
Without burning a wing to lie in a meadow
And hear the grass sing to have all these things
In our memory's hoard, and to use them,
To help us, to find......