so long a silence covers up much pain
we can rejoice but we must still recall
this sun of freedom rises through the rain

why they were taken we need not explain
for weight of shadows on us casts a pall
so long a silence covers up much pain

of those who suffered for other folks’ gain
whose battered bodies hung against the wall
this sun of freedom rises through the rain

and still we dance our every hope made plain
elsewhise we’d stoop and crouch and bend and bawl
so long a silence covers up much pain

they won their battle and their long campaign
whose time of servitude was not so small
this sun of freedom rises through the rain

with words of justice sung in no wild strain
by men and women proudly standing tall
so long a silence covers up much pain
this sun of freedom rises through the rain

to travel takes us back to where we start
all journeys have good learning as their end
but no one can go further than their heart

we seek a place from which pain must depart
leaving us healthier and with a friend
to travel takes us back to where we start

where all our bags are piled upon the cart
yet we can see those folk who will not bend
but no one can go further than their heart

so we have gone unto a place apart
to understand but not to reprehend
to travel takes us back to where we start

into the torment that must make us smart
beyond the certain hope which we defend
but no one can go further than their heart

therefore we master the creative art
that teaches us the ways in which to blend
to travel takes us back to where we start
but no one can go further than their heart

across the silences these words are true
that answer sorrow with a worthy smile
but will not pause to soften nor revile
your efforts nor the feelings that are due
this passing day what is it we review
among the many sights that might beguile
each voyager who reaches this last mile
is that the known provides us with a clue
some would be said to answer that the day
is not sufficient for all that we need
but we must struggle onwards into night
actors and viewers of the self-same play
not certain if our desperation’s greed
but ever hopeful we can get things right

too many answers come down to the same
non-explanation of the simple fact
we are the ones who always bear the blame

for all the anger we have one hard name
clear and precise both noble and exact
too many answers come down to the same

wave of exhaustion so that we must claim
not what we earned but all the goods we lacked
we are the ones who always bear the blame

for what was lost and for the constant shame
that was included in the lost compact
too many answers come down to the same

inauguration of the truth of fame
which we can neither add to nor detract
we are the ones who always bear the the blame

for those who come when we call the right name
but have no thought of what it means to act
too many answers come down to the same
we are the ones who always bear the blame

to speak of valour is no great mistake
when each of us confronts the howling gale
those who are ready when the sandbags fail
know what is meant when city turns to lake
each of them is that moment wide awake
while in their corners all the cowards quail
left with no benefit save their own stale      
as even stoutest bodies bend and shake
words that are spoken in the autumn sun
lose all their purchase during winter's turn
but are the currency of many schools
repenting of their choices no one's done
before they see their youthful wishes burn
and know themselves for ordinary fools

where crossing rivers can be made to count
against the value of all we hold dear
in spite of all that’s known at the frontier
where hope and learning are held paramount
no one would wait on those who’d dare remount
for the long journey of the pioneer
made by the awkward and the most sincere
who have their truths to keep and to recount
no voyage matters this at last we learn
except to those who never need the map
the ones excepted from each changing trend
those are the masters who will always yearn
to hear our answer yet not give a rap
since all must come out equal in the end

our meanings come from choices handed down
by those who built the towers and raised the sky
the folk who farmed the fields and filled the town
who'd made the horrid trip and did not die
their long hope was back to lost home to fly
but all the horrors made their footsteps slow
while home was lost in the far eastern glow
they had their duties and their constant care
and all the many pains we cannot know
all changed with dessalines at vertières

so much depends upon a simple frown
a gesture or a winking of the eye
to  make disaster or to grant renown
turn all our wishes into one great lie
or  send us each to the last great good-bye
by means of one most massive mortal blow
that bursts the normal cheery human flow
and sends us hurtling to the upper air
until that moment all had seemed too slow
all changed with dessalines at vertières

the human is a move from verb to noun
a chance to prove that we can best rely
upon the one who could not play the clown
but was the stalwart soul who did not cry
under the lash but rather chose to fly
with the fresh dawn and the new morning glow
the day of history when all would know
just what we were and how much we would dare
to do when we came up from down below
all changed with dessalines at vertières

prince you have heard your men were far too slow
to face our wrath and take the angry blow
that meant our freedom in the open air
do not be angry for you could not know
the outcome would be more than a tableau
all changed with dessalines at vertières

no evidence the world is bent in shape
a bluish globe with wooly white of cloud
the mountains form a contrast sharp and proud
against the sea we note the golden cape
while in the sky dark birds seem to escape
the planetary force while winds are loud
above the foam and yet we are uncowed
though eyes are open and all mouths agape
there is a reason we have reached this place
and taken stock at the appropriate time
for our authority to be compelled
into new channels and a different space
with better thought and clearer paradigm
now that the party’s over and trial’s held

no matter what we say we do not feel
the pain of others right inside each heart
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

for one more challenge for the last appeal
which was presaged right at the very start
no matter what we say we do not feel

our hopes and urges have been brought to heel
and the last hero laid upon a cart
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

to see the message and to take our meal
in comfort all who come here will depart
no matter what we say we do not feel

we will start forward and then we will reel
back down in sign that we have lacked the art
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

for what is good the last hard spring of steel
yet still the while some fool will strain to ****
no matter what we say we do not feel
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

where no man argues and no woman fights
for good or evil we have reached an end
of human battles and the stars portend
no better indications as the nights
close in we note their distant blinking lights
as symbols we might faintly comprehend
when we are whole but what the worlds intend
is not a matter that we have to rights
the argument of workers in the day
or farmers when the wind upsets the trees
is much the same as when we all were young
to bring about the work without delay
ignore the rain and not yield to the breeze
since a strong back outdoes a silver tongue

where in the sunlight all the dirt's dispelled
we take our leave then some will go to sleep
their blankets piled upon them in a heap
while in the forest all the spirits gelled
anticipating that when we excelled
at sport and art the answer would be deep
but nothing holds there's no place here to keep
our kindnesses the earth itself rebelled
none can permit the law to be denied
by those who are so bound to a far higher
that their hard hands are in the moment lit
by the illuminations of their pride
the incandescence of a greater fire
than can be understood by human wit

we hit the wall and then the world goes down
into the dark and nothing good returns
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

as winter comes like satan into town
all minds are numb just as the river churns
we hit the wall and then the world goes down

a sad destruction but no one will frown
believing that we get what the thief earns
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

now skies are darker than a priestly gown
for what one makes the other overturns
we hit the wall and then the world goes down

so no one stands for hope or for renown
but gets instead just what the ******* earns
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

this is the truth where hero becomes clown
you have to flee before the city burns
we hit the wall and then the world goes down
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

here on the boundary of truth and lie
where ordinary magics have their rule
underneath heaven permanently cool
no one escapes nor is allowed to cry
against the judgment of the steely sky
since every human is at last a fool
while failure is the final mark at school
the arrow that will find each weeping eye
all that we know amounts to waste of air
on these strange days when we desire to feel
the urgent courage of our better days
but what we get is new return of care
another revolution of the wheel
and nothing better coming through the haze

our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed
the world defies our choices and our rage
in the republic of the wholly ******

we spoke and then our thoughts were truly slammed
by those who said that with keen words on page
our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed

the metre's right and the line's not enjambed
yet all we get is a poor poet's wage
in the republic of the wholly ******

since for the moment the signal's not jammed
so that the the enemy cannot engage
our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed

until they burst and our dead corpses rammed
into the the dullest moments of the age
in the republic of the wholly dammed

by those who thought that the most decent shammed
their honest words and strutted on a stage
our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed
in the republic of the wholly dammed

we fall so far that the first sign of light
awakens us to shaking and to pain
not ready but we face it all again
there was no comfort in the arms of night
we got it wrong so gelid is our plight
yet these are things that no one need explain
each is quite normal not a one's arcane
for suffering's a universal rite
what each must do is take up the hard load
of human courage as if it were new
and clasp it tightly without much regret
accept that this is one rough stony road
that comes with  sorrow and no good long view
and all is paid with labour and cold sweat

name after name recorded on the wall
a sombre history of the long crime
against us all now fading into time
made by those giants who to us seem small
through urgent years when little could appal
our fervent thoughts when worlds were at their prime
(so we believed) yet we feared the dark slime
that seemed to lurk awaiting our long fall
now it’s the turn of those who would proclaim
a better day and shout it very loud
so even the ancestors could rejoice
but we who are uncertain of our flame
no longer urgent and no more as proud
are not so eager to exalt our voice

there are deep echoes across the dry wall
so sky seems brassy and bereft of cloud
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

to stony death where no one will recall
how once you were so youthful and so proud
there are deep echoes across the dry wall

where the old vultures circle seeing all
the land below them forested or ploughed
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

from narrow path your heart now seems so small
and fate so large the silence seems so loud
there are deep echoes across the dry wall

the distant birds across the sky now scrawl
in ragged letters on the small puffy cloud
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

into forever certain none will bawl
the earth itself will be your only shroud
there are deep echoes across the dry wall
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

where no salvation comes from a dead lord
we're cast adrift and there's no guiding star
no symbol serves to act as luminar
and we have taken a strange one aboard
as sign and seal in these realms unexplored
of all our dangers yet we're not so far
beyond the norms of everyday devoir
but have paid more than mortals can afford
we asked for honesty and got hard stone
straight in the face nothing could be so plain
but to push onward is the single choice
that folk of honour have bred in the bone
regardless of the threat of lash and chain
or whether the old villains will rejoice

no count of years may still the hand of fate
but yet the kindly sunrise eases pain
as those who fought arise to fight again
with little rancour and without debate
for once removed the horrors cease to grate
on any soul and there’s no longer strain
when each of us can see the future plain
and know that we’re the owners of the state
this is the promise made by those who sleep
beneath our soil whose lives gave ours full worth
that a bright morning would our people see
not as a flock of tired and hungry sheep
but as a folk in fullest time of mirth
enjoying every taste of liberty

so all we hear today is cannons’ boom
their echo forms our terrible surround
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

it isn’t that we just ran out of room
for good intentions our shots will redound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

from shore to shore and the explosives’ bloom
accompanied by their pervading sound
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

though skies are sunny we are cast in gloom
parents and children thrown into the mound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

perhaps in time some scholar will exhume
the reason why we all now lie in ground
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

and every hope has fallen down to doom
while goodness trust and honesty are bound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

those who have measured the true depths of hate
are never guided by the maps we know
nor by the compass or the starry show
at height of darkness that is not their fate
on the long journey for they won’t debate
the terrors or the pains there is no blow
so hard it will detain them the great flow
of history inspires them not to wait
there’s a reminder that we learn the ways
when we are children and the early signs
of wisdom we dismiss as so much guff
yet we return when we’ve fulfilled the days
of hardest learning and worked in the mines
discovering at last we’re not so tough

a century ago the world began
in blood and pain the auguries were wild
so many things have changed in a short span

my father’s world the currents overran
there was no time for words or thoughts too mild
a century ago the world began

we have to choose which of the screens to scan
it is too easy to become beguiled
so many things have changed in a short span

and we are all entranced woman and man
by all the facts that overcome the child
a century ago the world began

two shots and then the faeces struck the fan
for all mankind none would be reconciled
so many things have changed in a short span

the light itself has been placed under ban
and all that once was purest been defiled
a century ago the world began
so many things have  changed in a short span

to those who wait there is no better name
in the wide oceans for the coming wild
giving us hope when all we had was shame

our fathers left us heritage of blame
although their rule was temperate and mild
to those who wait there is no better name

except perhaps the trumpet cry of fame
though that by wise folk is sometimes reviled
giving us hope when all we had was shame

the thought of danger puts us in the frame
yet for our good we left the hearth exiled
to those who wait there is no better name

for hero but we find the story lame
and punish those we thought might just have smiled
giving us hope when all we had was shame

since now we learn the whole thing is a game
and the best player no more than a child
to those who wait there is no better name
giving us hope when all we had was shame

some mention made then must the silence fall
upon the envies that have held us late
within the barrier lacking all freight
of decency or commerce but the tall
protectors of our honour lightly call
on such devotion as the wise relate
in their long histories and we do not state
a better truth the pain belongs to all
so what is earned after the sacrifice
no one regards as worthy of our toil
since it has fallen from no awesome height
but rather we are told that the full price
is not a matter for complaint or broil
but can be settled in a day and night

what meanings truth and justice had
we've understood and will not pass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

(not the first time) and we are glad
to see reflected in the glass
what meanings truth and justice had

in eyes that are forever sad
seeing the bones beneath the grass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

for generations good and bad
by that immense levée-en-masse
(what meanings truth and justice had)

so demos spoke and thus forbade
the foolish claims of herrenrass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

so many folk might think us mad
to speak of mankind as one class
what meanings truth and justice had
that bill was paid at stalingrad

we navigate by methods good and fair
our science has been tested and found true
for many seasons the hard-working crew
have full and thorough trust in our good care
so do not worry at the changing air
in certainty that we have paid our due
before the mast the storms we have been through
are the best measure of how much we dare
yet each adventure has its own sweet trap
since we dare not refuse to face the test
so must discover just how little sure
we really are of what is on the map
and what we know but must face all with zest
for all that matters is that we endure

go through the shallows then out past the wreck
until you reach the point where water burns
you’ll know it clearly by the sharp returns
then note the ship the one with golden deck
and figurehead of angel with wry neck
you’d sign up on her as one does who yearns
for urgent journeys yet as each child learns
there are no funds left to support the cheque
still without vision no one would begin
a single enterprise and we’d remain
stuck in the mud unable to set sail
instead we face each whimsy with a grin
allow the facts of chance to come out plain
and turn our faces right into the gale

we lack the honest mastery of time
though calendars and tables give the shape
of power to our lives and let us ape
the feeling of authority sublime
against the forces pushing from the slime
that are true horror still there's no escape
all in the end will stand with mouth agape
and weep and then fall back from the long climb
children look up and ask for a great dad
to hold their hands and pat them on the cheeks
while looking down from his house in the sky
the adult now can't help but feel quite sad
recalling that poor child with its soiled breeks
when first it learnt the whole tale was a lie

when falls the echo on forgotten ground
none of our heroes can come up for air
since there is not one inch's room to spare
for exploration and we must confound
the masters of each noble hill and mound
who watch as we succumb to deep despair
and laugh while those who voice kind words of care
fall silent as our last good hopes are drowned
the long goodnight that none would dare to say
to any who has travelled through that cloud
past all the boundaries of human grime
is spoken now so we might reach a day
when all that's visible all that's allowed
within the reach of normal common time
is but the text of one less moral play

no one recalls the red bird's haunting song
in dead of winter but it marks the spring
the creature's small and yet its voice is strong

what we discover when we fall among
the hordes who struggle to avoid the sting
(no one recalls the red bird's haunting song

but has a sense that they are drawn along
into the silence) is the sharp high ring
the creature's small and yet its voice is strong

enough to to let  us know that we belong
in this strange place where all our hopes may cling
no one recalls the red bird's haunting song

and yet when choruses turn to a throng
we want so urgently our hearts to fling
the creature's small  and yet its voice is strong

enough for us to know it is not wrong
to feel its force and want ourselves to sing
no one recalls the red bird's haunting song
the creature's small and yet its voice is strong

whatever happens there is no regret
for tempests that  have shredded new-leaved trees
awakening the youthful from their ease
into a present that is all upset
where each is cast at once deep into debt
not knowing whom to help nor whom to please
frozen in place by the harsh sky's decrees
and driven only to hard fear and fret
still there are signs that we have not been told
all that we need in order to get by
the simple passage of each normal plight
instead we're warned to be urgent and bold
focus inhuman danger in the eye
but not be lured by any trick of light

long toil will end when good folk all agree
on what is just and how the work divides
and on this morning we all wake up free

so many years that each lack harmony
we seemed only to wait for changing tides
long toil will end when good folk all agree

on how we fare and how we stand to see
the ones who move or that which still abides
and on this morning we all wake up free

the music plays with skill and constancy
while one who would have punished simply hides
long toil will end when good folk all agree

on codes of honour sitting by the sea
watch as the last bad soldier changes sides
and on this morning we all wake up free

so now we gather under an old tree
to give our promises and choose our guides
long toil will end when good folk all agree
and on this morning we all wake up free

when we are lost in rapture at the sight
of the spring flowers at last fully blown
we are then healed down to the very bone
of the last vestiges of winter's blight
so too when we have passed beyond the night
into another domain of the known
where once again we cease to be alone
we can be certain that the world is right
the simple magics are the ones most true
not to feel terror at the change of time
yet to be awed that life returns again
in all those places that the sun makes new
so we rejoice in the slow upward climb
and let our bodies cast away their pain

where all the edges reach into the heart
are no clear corners nor a single sign
that time is changing the dividing line
is never crossed yet all are kept apart
by the hard means of some still arcane art
which the most foolish will insist divine
or claim as kindly warm tender benign
although they bleed from entry of the dart
we're far into the strange realm of the blind
where all the rules evil and perverse
and every bullet seems to find its mark
dead centre but the lying human mind
insists reality can't be adverse
that all is light down here deep in the dark

in all our doings there’s a rule we make
about the bounds beyond which we won’t go
those limits of the matters we may know
or of the facts in which we may partake
like the good flints that sharpen when they flake
or that swift stream with hidden deeper flow
beneath the mountain with the secret glow
all of the places that we can’t forsake
within each heart are truths that none may speak
yet in our song they’re vibrant in their call
to warm the spirit and release the mind
allowing us the harmony to seek
beyond the power of the strong and tall
right into where the force of love must bind

all of our answers turn out to be true
though journeys start and end in pouring rain
there comes a time to pause and take the view

our knowledge is constrained by what is new
not by the old nor yet by thoughts of gain
all of our answers turn out to be true

since what we've done must constitute a coup
in favour of the honest and the plain
there comes a time to pause and take the view

of all the folk whose minds may yet construe
the simple vision that when we entrain
all of our answers turn out to be true

both to our hearts and to those who are due
the seats of honour and the high domain
there comes a time to pause and take the view

when all is clear and the noon sky full blue
we are redeemed by virtue of our pain
all of our answers turn out to be true
there comes a time to pause and take the view

in what new name are honours to be read
by those who fall along the weary road
bearing the last and most unwanted load
of fear and horror no unblemished head
do we acknowledge all our limbs have bled
leaking the symbols of a hated code
while it was plain that nothing could corrode
either the cover or the weight of dread
but there's a message in the signal flame
as we who watch may come to understand
far past all bearing yet within our care
are those who know the truth is not a game
that all good matter comes within a hand
but must go free to rise up in the air

when all is measured time begins to grate
upon the senses then we have to start
a different sort of journey where the part
that makes our human feeling more than freight
is what's required to set the message straight
not only in the realms of work and art
but so the honest signal might depart
from deep inside to past the furthest gate
not every cloud is signal of new rain
or so we learn from waiting as each night
the sigh of wind brings us no fresh relief
from all our suffering and the hard pain
nor are the killer birds disturbed in flight
nor yet the door secured against the thief

here is a dragon that breathes golden fire
burning a message across the dull sky
telling us all that fate may be a liar

although we are the ones who still aspire
to honour in a world where all seems dry
here is a dragon that breathes golden fire

a vision that combines beauty and ire
reminder that some final truth is nigh
telling us all that fate may be a liar

that in the end both pain and joy are higher
than we expect or might ask to supply
here is a dragon that breathes golden fire

a mark of fear but still it is not dire
there's more above than we know to espy
telling us all that fate may be a liar

that is the burden of the early crier
who warns that those who care will come to die
here is a dragon that breathes golden fire
telling us all that fate may be a liar

if there are ways to measure all the tale
in years of story how the shapes are made
without an edge of humour being frayed
by passing breeze or rough attacking gale
you'd say that we must in this wise assail
the aged creators of the human braid
for all the crimes of their despairing trade
before we mark their effort with a fail
no truths have been discovered by our kind
without an effort to disturb the soil
uproot the weeds and plant a better seed
so that the newer products of keen mind
emergent in the end from bitter toil
can match the urge exactly to the deed

we take the pummel since we have to ride
no need to fumble there’s a ready flow
though words are warmer life retains its glow
both here and where we  see high mountain’s side
wake in new green our hearts no longer hide
from the assertion that they truly know
what is their will we’ve seen the golden blow
after the panic and we share the pride
no worse disaster that we care to mark
in daily news or nightly tale of care
can come so close or make our souls to smart
but what’s important is the end of dark
erasure of the hard weight of despair
from where it lay upon each normal heart

emerging from the freighted dark no thought
but that the sky be clear and hands be filled
with all the needful that your warm hearts willed
when in good daylight the first words were caught
by eager listeners who had been taught
that not all prizes went to those best drilled
in the arcana of the freshly-killed
rather to ones who would account for naught
there is a victory that no one regrets
up in the hills when all the gifts are due
then hunters call and do not comprehend
the plainer meanings and the open sets
though when we have been silenced and review
our final forces we find there’s no end

at the commencement all the world was dared
for a small prize a kiss  and then a hope
so that the magic feeling would be shared

not by the ones whose  urgency was feared
as they came running down the morning *****
at the commencement all the world was dared

just so they could with justice be prepared
for honourable parting we elope
so that the magic feeling would be shared

in proper form and time by those who cared
more deeply and were happy they could cope
at the commencement all the world was dared

yet we survive while all the children stared
as new dawn seemed to offer yet more scope
so that the magic feeling would be shared

by all the folk who knew they had been spared
to hold with strength what they could barely *****
at the commencement all the world was dared
so that the magic feeling would be shared

what’s left unknown weighs down  until we bleat
in rage and fear then leave off being bold
for better nights and stories wiser told
as those with longer practice wait the fleet
leaving the late ones to patrol the street
in angry silence so while it is cold
as the dew rises and the night turns old
the urgent and the foolish still may meet
this is the game of rats that always prey
upon the leavings that once made for joy
cast away now beneath the starless sky
as every denizen flees from the day
in certainty that even truth’s a toy
and honour turns out just another lie

running into darkness and the grey wall
in the strange quicksand which is some dark trap
you have no choice you must cry out and fall

yet this is not the time for you to bawl
at life's injustice and go off the map
running into darkness and the grey wall

with none to hear as the hard sun stands tall
you have the strength to go another lap
you have no choice you must cry out and fall

but will get up though none may hear your call
since there is still a way out of the crap
running into darkness and the grey wall

even though light itself may seem to maul
your heart and no one ever gives a rap
you have no choice you must cry out and fall

struggle again to show you have the gall
to face down all the ravages of hap
running into darkness and the grey wall
you have no choice  you must cry out and fall

yesterday's snow is ***** now and dark
we look for ice and worry about shade
as the sun rises and the long parade
of normal time resumes along the stark
roads and each newly-woken seems to mark
a world made gritty when light must abrade
both faith and fear the horror we have made
there's nothing but the chance of a new spark
from a great distance in another zone
there's news more bitter than the fleeting cold
and nothing that can make it feel more light
since each plain word will cut right to the bone
yet do no more than let us know what's told
which is that all will come to end in night

in the deep silence when the heavy snow
had closed the ways and frozen every road
each of us certain that no river flowed
and turning inwards for the gentle glow
of  home and hope that love will soon bestow
on all of those who have found out the code
of normal joy there's no more human mode
for us to find nor for the heart to know
yet as the dark descends on the cold city
we're held together by another light
clearer and kinder than we might deserve
safe in a time we know for rough and gritty
and made secure by truth instead of might
we find the gold around the final curve

we heard a clear message loud as a gun
roll from the speaker who stood above
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

there’s what we have asked for much has been done
the structure is falling just one more shove
we heard a clear message loud as a gun

and we are not startled though it may stun
having already seen fist in the glove
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

pleasant words told us of miles left to run
with hearts of a lion and souls of a dove
we heard a clear message loud as a gun

out of the vision the teller had spun
came more hope than any of us had thought of
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

the story of all that was worth being won
the magic and beauty of our common love
we heard a clear message loud as a gun
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

these are the laws with which all must comply
within the bounds not just of this one state
but under all the norms of human freight
as though we were not only passing by
like winter birds up in the cloudless sky
each on its way towards a waiting mate
with certain knowledge of the coming date
true clarity of vision in each eye
so duty comes upon us and we weep
for all those moments when we could not stand
in proper place right by the open door
where ordinary watchers just might keep
a welcome jug of water close to hand
and for the hungry perhaps something more

deep in the forest withies climb each tree
birds cry our presence we are monsters here
beneath our feet the little creatures flee

in each small clearing there's not much to see
the light of morning seems harsh and austere
deep in the forest withies climb each tree

wild pines in the high branches in the lee
of the bright breezes which bring so much cheer
beneath our feet the little creatures flee

much further in avoiding the decree
of the hard fate that they all seem to fear
deep in the forest withies climb each tree

commensal vision where we might agree
on how life comes both to survive and share
beneath our feet the little creatures flee

while we explain how these things come to be
in dappled light within this pleasant air
deep in the forest withies climb each tree
beneath our feet the little creatures flee