Trees are beautiful dancers,
Stretching their limbs to heaven
Holding graceful poses as they sway to Mother's music.
The birds sing for them, happily.
Chirping to the earth's heartbeat
Picking their feathers clean
To fly off into the wind-
Her breath,
As She sighs with content
At all She has to behold,
At everything She has created
Like the militant insects,
Who live with purpose and reason
Who form even lines only they can see
On Her fertile dirt, they tread carefully.
The butterflies and bees and things
That feed upon Her flowering beauty
Spreading Her seed, expanding Her life,
As once again She happily sighs.
Though her happiness knows of strife,
A sour note in Her song,
A melody that came out wrong
Humanity can only carve
Uneven lines into Her heart.
Abort Her life, with hands clenching Her womb
Punishing Her for everything She has bloomed.
We don't deserve this elysian tomb
She's the one who has cursed us with our doom.
Abort Her life, so we can perish too
Her beauty turned to ugliness too soon.

-SLuR

1454

Those not live yet
Who doubt to live again—
“Again” is of a twice
But this—is one—
The Ship beneath the Draw
Aground—is he?
Death—so—the Hyphen of the Sea—
Deep is the Schedule
Of the Disk to be—
Costumeless Consciousness—
That is he—

I deemed thy garments, O my Hope, were grey,
So far I viewed thee. Now the space between
Is passed at length; and garmented in green
Even as in days of yore thou stand’st to-day.
Ah God! and but for lingering dull dismay,
On all that road our footsteps erst had been
Even thus commingled, and our shadows seen
Blent on the hedgerows and the water-way.

O Hope of mine whose eyes are living love,
No eyes but hers,—O Love and Hope the same!—
Lean close to me, for now the sinking sun
That warmed our feet scarce gilds our hair above.
O hers thy voice and very hers thy name!
Alas, cling round me, for the day is done!