Chasing and chasing in the whirling wind,
the songbird can not remember her song,
the willow weeps, the running waters waver.
Everything that was once lush, languishes.
Hunters and gatherers, our longing hearts
desire, ravage, and hunt,though some days,
we stay close to the fire gathering what comes.
"I will somehow welcome what comes," I whisper.
Hardly are these words out, when the songbird
begins to hum her tune, the willow wipes her tears,
and the wondrous waters flow merrily on their way.