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 —
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.