Her look was warm as summer dawn,
there was a lightness as she stepped
as if the ground was almost a cloud,
her beauty a casual dream sun-swept.
The last time I saw her she sang
a song of stream and swelling hills,
the sky alive to her lilting melody
backed by a covey of whippoorwills.
She’s on her way to full release;
solid witnesses to her teachings
stand by with glances into clarity.
Her mind plays – it’s far-reaching.
All through this lonesome night
I’ve heard cries from the forest;
her absence pervades in silence,
a wind starts up out of the west.
