There was a wood my family owned
I oft went there when I was small;
Ne’er went I there, save once, alone—
Down to those trees so straight and tall.
Upon that day, I went to see
The creek, and lush green sorrel growing
How delightful it was to be
There without my family knowing.
I sat beneath a spreading pine,
In deep thought, I ate my sorrel,
Suddenly the blackberry vines
Were wet upon the un-mown hill.
This sudden rain increased my joy,
These drops fell not on my own hair.
Then all at once the sound, ohoy!
Benedicta! cut through the air.
I yelled back to the unknown voice
My own small sound was lost at once
But still I had no other choice
I left the woods with much reluctance.
Many years later, I came back
Chopping my way down that same hill,
Eating nettle and sorrel snacks
Barefoot in the creek standing still.
My feet were in the same cool water
As they were many years ago
Yet life was different and I was taller
To laugh or cry I did not know.
E’en though my years passed quickly by,
One thing in my life had not changed
"Benedicta!” that self-same cry
I turned and faced the years ahead