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Mentor's Message  (10.10.87)
  by Ruth Cunningham title image

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am a million miles
from last October's moon,
it's a memory past forgetting
like each picnic perfect June

For each season's grace retraces
love's perfect face - now lost
in future's fresh fleshed patterns
of September's early frost.

And now no more per-chances
will mark our moment's smiles
to fill the growing distance
between our memories miles.

When your dreams escape your sleeping
hear my ancient echoed tune —
a haunted breeze — a whispered weeping
out past last October's moon.

So long the effort's muddle,
so hard the battles fought,
so strong the heart's brave struggle
towards these dreams — now caught.

So short the day's enrapture,
so deep the evening's mauve,
so vast the blue sky's wonder
where this seeker yearned to rove.

So endless is the heartland
and so loving is the friend
who called me home so welcome
to my journey's quested end.

So hallowed is this knowledge
and so satisfied this heart
that sought so far beyond itself
to gain its matching part.

Though stern seemed life's strict measure
more harsh is death's demand
that bars my greatest solace —
the touch of loving hand.

I am a million miles
beyond October's moon,
beyond the winter's coming
and the next sweet spring's new bloom.

I've gone — but not forgotten,
I've moved — but still remain
a patron of forever
and a keeper of life's flame.

I've left - but not regretful
of the place that once was mine,
for there is no room for sorrow
in the tender heart of time.

There are no more pretenses -
nothing left to trade
for all the lesson's longings
my heart has ever made.

No lingering questions cloy
and no hold has doubt's embrace;
past needs and fears I've disappeared
redeemed beyond life's trace.

Now there are no safer havens
and there is no higher goal,
I've heard life's final secrets
speak their wisdom to the soul.

Still so ceaseless rise the queries,
and so loud the mind's appeal
that courts opinion's justice
as redemptive truth's ideal;

Yet when we're called to answer
in judgement, or defense,
our verdict renders perfect
all life's motives and intents.

I am a million miles
past last October's moon,
I'm a memory past forgetting,
a song beyond life's tune;

I'm a voice with many Speakers,
the glimmer in the star,
the future you remember,
the past of who you are.