Color over all the freckles on your new nephew's face so he can redeem his society-killed soul
And outside the lines on the turtle's shell
And the shoes onto the poor boy's feet so he can't feel the world

Shout to the nearest old man who can't hear you anyway
And to the baby who will never be born
And to the flowers that refuse to grow

Walk to the town where the first crow's feather fell
And where the first snowfall was caught on the pink tongue of a six-year-old
And where the first autumn leaf was raked into a pile of its fellows and jumped into for freedom