Tall and staid the Tree stood alone in the valley of kismet.
Rain whipped the bark into timid helpless pulp.
Thunder pitilessly peeled the core.
And now it weeps those tears once more.
Joining, mingling, often dazzling,
Streaks of ravishing hues colliding,
Cottoness weaving patchy dreams,
Culminating into willowy streams,
Feathery blues, such peaceful solitude,
In acres binding forgotten clues;
to absolute enlightenment
The voice:
That I heard so many years ago,
From the distant lakes,
Near the forests pure.
The voice:
Whispers in quickening breaths,
Beckoning me to quietness,
Calling the wild soul,
Knowing what I know not.
I sit down under a Tree in the dense forest of thought,
The sounds of leaves in silent speech enchant my mind and heart,
The brook is respectful and bubbles softly in quiet friendship,
Dainty blossoms wink with naughty glance,
And the Philosopher tall and I are engaged in deeper talk.
“You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of your grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.” by ~Native American Wisdom
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