Where Wild Lilies Grow
To the ones who know.
Harken to me now, my child,
For mine are words you should well know.
Before my final hour’s done,
Ere death’s sweet sounding song sings low,
I would tell you of a wondrous place
Where the wild lilies grow.
Of course you know that I am old,
My dark hair long since turned to snow.
But beating hearts with tales untold
In whispers I will tell, but slow,
For only through that steady pace
Will you learn where lilies grow.
My memories are buried deep,
But stars that shine and winds that blow
Would raise the secrets seedlings keep
And, gaily, like a soft hello,
Would be such answers to embrace:
Where do the lilies grow?
Take my ailing body fast
Up tow’ring peaks, cross streams that flow,
Through forests deep and caverns vast.
For nothing neath the stars that glow
Could vanish from fault or efface
Where the wild lilies grow.
Listen to my words, my child
Whose youth yet has no taint or woe:
Life always ends as it’s begun,
On hopes and dreams swung to and fro
Through sifting swirls of souls and space
Above where lilies grow.
When my life ends, when soon I die,
Bury me not in cold grounds. No,
For floating ashes reach the sky
That I looked upon long ago.
Now, though I slumber, I retrace
My steps to where wild lilies grow.
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