gathering gaily
on a day
was found
the whole
of humanity
holding hands
singing
heart
love
peace

I was not dreaming

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

I spent my days
floating
on warm summer breezes,
fluttering
through winter winds,
circling the sacred trees,
and now,
flying
on tattered wings,
I go West,
to die in the shadows
of the setting sun,
free at last.