My McCandless, if ever you leave upon whim one fine day,
I understand your sun reigned soul, is what I'll say.
Dull and sullen, my heart will send you on your way.
Ahead on your path I will ardently scatter showers,
Though I am small; great armfuls of camellia flowers,
From Fuji to the Blue Ridge Mountains' springtime bowers.
And as you go with each gracing step you take
Lightly on the flowers as they softly break--
An echo of me as the leave you take.
I know you'll leave me one fated day.
I'll come back to you, is what I hope you'll say.
But I'll not weep then, come what may.