The Scout is keeping well ahead of me
Leading the way.
He watches me, and my trust must remain in him.
Privations surround me--I am in the wilds
And but for him who is out of my sight
I am alone.
The days pass, and dreaming endures sleeping.
Still, quiet mornings whisper of the coming light.
I rise from the deep wells of sleep
To the pearly treasure of air.
Something greater cradled me there in the deep well.
Now it is gone so quietly I hardly perceive that soft step
Though I trail after it,
Like a suckling trailing after the memory of kindness
I erase my camp
And wait for morning to break
Too early, now, but it will come.
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