I think about how my feet have never
Touched the soft moss in that distant forest
Or how my hands have not felt the tear-like vines
Of the weeping trees in the foreign jungle
My legs have never strained to carry
My body up the side of the snow kissed
Mountainside. These places are all so
Familiar to me and yet I have not
Breathed in the sweet smell of the moss
Nor felt the rough skin of the vine
Nor tasted the pure snow of the mountain.
Yet I possess such a clear picture, such a
Beautiful image in my mind; with all the
Familiarity of my mother's soft face.