With darkness looking back,
what more is there to give?
How could you ever be lost?
Your name remains in poetry,
in forests of palms, and that dedicated
belief in constancy.
Even on your solitary path
into the gloaming I wonder…
Does morning bring joy?
Does hope still hold,
when…
the only hope is to be the light.
for poet and dedicated conservator
—W.S. Merwin (1927 – 2019)
