where no foot falls
those who walked beside you
on the early golden road
small hand in large hand confided.
and now, what abides, you cry
in the dust and looking long down that road
or back behind you
to where their kindness and their care
was like a wall between you
and the outer darknesses.
how little knowing then
they would ever depart
you played in the side yard
watched from a kitchen window carefully.
now you would give each day you own
in exchange for knowing them as you did then
in the present tense.
but they have folded all tents
and left you here,
the last nomad.
mary angela douglas 2 july 2016