Mount Nemo

In her mind she still walks the backroads

below Mount Nemo, Tessy at her heels,

shaking her fist at the damn speeders—

Remember when she gave the bikers 

a piece of her mind for racing their hogs

Too near her as they roared up the hill?

Today she’s following down a new trail 

meeting old friends around the bend,

her Irish clan warming up at the piano.

Far away, I hear the words of of Emily Dickinson 

“Because I could not stop for Death—

He Kindly stopped for me—

The Carriage held but just Ourselves —

And Immortality.”

But I won’t be grieving as this voyage starts.

She’s walked those pathways long enough,

content for her to embark on a new ramble.

And I would gladly pack up her memories 

so she can lead her loyal dogs, without fail,

along the cool, green slope of Bruce Trail.