It gives me comfort
to know many of the people
who deeply needed to read
what Thoreau had to say
we’re not born when he wrote down his thoughts–and he knew it.
So made a handcrafted wooden box
for his journals–of one million words!–
and left them with a friend.
When someone asked him before he passed if he was right with Jesus,
he replied a snowstorm meant more to him than Jesus.
Indeed, his last words were “moose” and “Indian.”
The handcrafted wooden box gives me great comfort too, and the snowstorm. Lovely poem.