Listen, my parents,
the grasses are crawling,
the trees are all thrumming.
Soon, birds won’t be able to sing.
Listen. Hear me. Our time
is for turning. If the old ways don’t die, we can’t win.

*

Listen, my children:
our grasses are crawling,
our trees, yes, they’re thrumming
birds know what they know as they sing.
Listen, hear it. True time
ever calling. Lay down your despairing. Join in.