There was a child went forth every day
And the first object she look'd upon, that object she became;
And that object became part of her for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years

The fragrant roses became part of this child,
And grass, and pink and red strawberries, and white cast iron fences, and the song of the mocking birds.
And the downy ducklings, and the dogs yelping brown litter, and the woman’s kitten, and the horses neigh,
and the light whispers of the neighborhood, or the colors of the cemetery,
And the stones patterned methodically around there- and the names upon them,
And the lightning bugs with their lazy flight- all became a part of her.

The pastures of the ranches and farms became a part of her,
Freshly picked squash. And those light green okra, and the earthy fragrance of the garden,
And the prickly bushes covered with berries, and the winter afterward,
And blueberries, and the ruts upon the road:
And the homeless man walking the streets around the church, where he had just prayed,
And the church goer that passed on her way to school,
And the young boys that passed- and the old men
And the fresh and proper girls- and the older wrinkled women
And all the changes of hill and valley, wherever she went.

Her own parents,
He that worked for her, and she that cared for her, and held her,
They gave their child more of themselves than that;
They gave her something every day- they became a part of her.

The mother at home, often cooking the dishes on the dinner table
The mother with mild words and soft hands with a light touch
Kindness radiating off of her as she walks by
The father, strong, self-sufficient, crafty, intelligent, humorous, just
The smile, the quick strong word, the long hours, the funny joke
The family traditions, the accent, the company, the comfort- the proud and kind heart,
Affection that will not be stolen, the sense of what is needed, the feeling if after all it isn’t needed,
The worries of daytime and doubts of nighttime- the curiousness of the girl
Whether that which is shown is true or is it all dust in the wind?

Men and women walking by on the streets- if they are not dust in the wind, what are they?
The roads themselves, and the green of forests, and animals in the wood,
Bridges, roads, the welded metal rails, the elegant river boats
The island in the river, seen from the shore, the birds flying by,
Shadows, mud and mist, the street light hits the horse drawn carriages, a street away
The horse in front, standing tall and strong, the spotted dog running beside,
The constant flow of cars, shining in the sun, honking
The city limits, the wide eyed doe, the smell of wild flowers and sounds of the stream.
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.