The flower shines, as I pass it by.
Sweet songs of praise raised up by
my winged friends.
The softness of the soil,
tenderness as I step.
A sky so sadden by its murky mire,
cries out for clean.
Cry out! Cry out! "Oh how I want to be sheer and to shine!"
Warmth as I rest upon my place, this hardness,
the rocking of the bench as it sways.
My shadow it moves! It's alive within.
Who is she? She asks ?
I am, that is enough!
Oh sing for me your glorious song.
Your chatter that holds meaning to your kind and to mine.
I cry aloud for you sky,
can you set yourself free?
Well up a breeze.
Shall I sit so immersed in song without a joy full within me.
How can one not be enriched by sound?
All that is old remains, unlike the new.
My breath is stifled for in it lies the dust of the earth.
Warmth has become heat, its tenderness gone.
It becomes a torment, a heated fire.
Oh bless me now with a breeze,
a gentle touch to give me ease.
Mountain range where have you gone?
Don't hide yourself!
I long to see your crested buttes,
your canyon shadows, but you do exist, and that's enough.
I rest my yearning for your view.
Hollow chime sounds out of this fashioned stone.
As I rock it tells me I am not alone.
Oh sing a song my feathered friend!
Laugh for me once again.
Soil so rich, such tender steps.
Farewell fine tree, who's leaves I long to see.
Fussy, fashioned flowers.
The tenderness of all that's real.