Fulfilment Poem by Margaret Widdemer

CROSSING through Heaven's doors,
If Heaven may be for me,
I shall not seek gold floors
Nor jasper wall nor sea;

Out from the streets of gold
Will branch a wooded way
Like one I knew of old
When all the world was May:

There shall be dusk to fall
And winds expectant, sweet,
And sleepy birds to call
And vines about my feet,

Stars in the night's soft black,
Leaves that swish soft like rain
And one old hour come back
And one choice given again.