I sing no songs of mystic whales
I find no ultimate harmony
In the balance of caribou and wolves
I do not proclaim the salvation
Of man in the wisdom of the wild
The law of nature is a cruel knife
And I know the dark underside of the woods
Is the death by rending of all who
Live in its green halls
Except that one creature who chose
To walk concrete passageways
And live by the hum
Of his own constructs
I do not begrudge my ancestors their choice
To flee the ruthless machinery of nature
And seek a longer life
In a world of straight lines
And unnatural light
Why then does my soul fill up with peace
When I watch the sun set
In a sky brushed with
Cinnamon and gold?