Old hands, new tricks . . .
The clouds didn't dance Instead they came to a stop Released their burdens Even when still, there is breath A snowy iteration
let yourself be brushed by amaranth or spicebush while you wander wild allow yourself to be smudged even when there is no smoke
In times of furor Walls won’t silence this music These songs of freedom Listen, says the nightingale, Fervor is tempered with grace
The mourning dove coosPerched high on electric linesEnergy transmits Listen, says the nightingale,Power generates within
She envies the foolHis follies lead to wisdomHard earned currency Be still, says the nightingale,In silence sort chaff from grain
Last night he tore down Hard walls enclosing his heart A frightful storm raged Listen, says the nightingale, Grow valor rooted in peace