I have never

I have never seen a humming bird,
a condor or a toucan.
I have never seen a buffalo,
a jackal or a whale.
I have never been to Florida,
the Seychelles or Galapagos
where wild palm trees grow.

I have never seen Machu Picchu,
the Taj Mahal, an elephant,
danced my way down Broadway,
or New Delhi
or in the belly
of a floating palace tub.
I have never left my litter
in the Himalayan snow.

But I have a hedge full of blackbirds,
meadows where wild orchids blow,
I have rescued and loved,
and walked on quiet feet,
tried not to break stalk
or silence, swelling slow,
and I hope to leave behind
only bright memories when I go.