I shall be coming back to you
From seas, rivers, sunny meadows, glens that hold secrets:
I shall come back with my hands full
Of light and flowers…
I shall bring back things I have picked up,
Traveling this road or the other,
Things found by the sea or in the pinewood.
There will be a pine-cone in my pocket,
Grains of pink sand between my fingers.
I shall tell you of a golden pheasant’s feather.
Will you know me?
--Hilda Conkling (age 10), 1922