the trees and brush grow up
shelter, food, protection
buffets the wind, the rain
holds the soil in a cradle
so cradles may bloom once again

around the clouds
what once was weeds
what once was barbarism.
Now, a proud civility
of the old sharing with the young
and the unique in commonality.

I can hear the wind blowing
lilts of the same song,
the world over
celebrating both life and death,
commingling the unity
in the young and old alike.

Choruses of the same refrain
repeated in both isolation and unity
echoing the song of the first sunrise
It's melody weaving its way
along the leaf laden path
and sparkling in the streams
of conciousness

Some kid laughs at a silly joke,
under the trees providing
shelter, food, and protection,
which once was weeds and barbarism
in the young and old alike,
echoing the song of the first sunrise.