When the land
Is the land of your ancestors,
You feel it in your soul
And the wind welcomes you home,
Rushing in
From the ocean
Onto the sandy shores of shells,
Clay and igneous rocks
Where leather-backs roam
And natives reigned
Centuries before the big ships came
With cargo black
Then brown.

If you listened with your Waiwai's ear
You would hear the whispering wind
And the subtle warning it brings
Each time it blows.

You would know when to run
For shelter
Under the sacred trees
Connecting earth to heaven.

Or when to bask in the tropical Sun.

When the land
Is the land of your ancestors,
You have a duty divine
To keep the leaves lush and green,
The air fresh and clean,
The soil rich in organic glory
As nature intended,
In the beginning.

Ignore not the wind
My friend
For it bears infinite wisdom
And the keys to preserving
This planet we call home.

The future flutters like a toucan
With broken wings
Unable to soar through the sky
And paint stunning silhouettes
For watchful eyes
To see
And fledgling minds
To cherish
For eternity.

When the land
Is the land of your ancestors...
You must
Listen
To the wind.

AYO...
~ P