As a river bellows down a mountainside,
slipping over rubble, fragmented and long forgotten,
curving between hilly meadows and dense forest,
you’re alive.
.
A farmer plows, loosing earth’s rich soil,
so that he may watch the fruit of his hands bloom.
And as the grains reach maturity, I know it,
you’re alive.
.
Once from the earth, you have now returned,
cradled in its welcoming arms for all eternity.
A peaceful slumber never interrupted.
And though I know from this slumber
you shall never awake,
you’re alive.
.
You’re in the air I breathe,
the soil I touch,
the water I sip,
you’re everywhere I am or plan to be.
.
As you promised, you have never left me.
Adding your comment:
I didn't see it before the edit... I'm glad you edited your score accordingly though, as I think this poem deserved it. 
