Silent streams are running. Running where you do not know and oh the only sign and warning is where the wild flowers grow. Meadows’ unexpected birth – green and gold on crusted earth. No one can call upon the wondrous worth of silent streams
Wildfires are blooming where the prairie wind will blow and all must step aside and witness how the wildflowers grow. Meadows’ seasonal rebirth. Red and orange from blackened earth. We would choose to turn aside the reckless worth of wildfires.
I would plant my little / garden safe and sound and want to plan where / where and when and how to grow. But you nourish through your reason / You burn my seeds in season / I see your harvest as your show me. I would plant my little / garden safe and sound. And take this untouched seed and let it lie / untouched seed and let it lie. But your wind of strong compassion / rustle my leaves to action / See the seed fly. It flutters. It flies, flies, flies.