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Dawn has passed and the fog drifts in
All days are not clear and bright
Of the many places I have been
None can thwart the coming of night
Mother Nature is and always will be
Our only one true sensible reality
Felt, heard and in the range of sight
A water strider dancing atop the stream
While blue jays scold a mockingbird
The tendrils of mist seem like a dream
Old spirits to be felt, seen and heard
My knowing exactly just how I feel
Forever believing what is truly real
Here long before man’s written word
Desiring to make everything all his own
While putting Mother Nature in her place
His soul as collateral, living on god’s loan
He gives her white wings and a human face
By these written words, a wink and nod
Man has become his own false god
Out to conquer all at a maddening pace
I believe in mockingbirds and blue jays
And the painful barbed sting of a honeybee
They never tell me to change my old ways
Or partake of the fruit from a forbidden tree
Man’s god prods me not which way to go
Nor what to learn and what not to know
Other than what I can, feel, hear, or see
Like the red eft slowly crossing my path
And an old owl roosting high upon a bough
I will not fear the god of man’s wrath
And shall accept what nature does allow
Man’s words or his god can never decide
Upon which breeze swan’s down will ride
Before man’s written words and even now
Reclaiming stolen ground beneath his temple
Issuing wild cries in his public squares
From an earlier time, seemingly simple
Matching eye to eye, the disbelieving stares
Not of any one mold man’s god was cast
Reminding everyone of their primitive past
And any ongoing, inconsiderate foolish affairs
Last Autumn’s leaves blanket the forest floor
Shades of brown, dry and slowly crumbling
Walls, stained glass windows, or a locked door
Cannot shut out the thunder’s rumbling
Man’s words can never quell the call of a loon
And never will they draw down the moon
Regardless of writings or prayerful mumbling
All days are not clear and bright
Of the many places I have been
None can thwart the coming of night
Mother Nature is and always will be
Our only one true sensible reality
Felt, heard and in the range of sight
A water strider dancing atop the stream
While blue jays scold a mockingbird
The tendrils of mist seem like a dream
Old spirits to be felt, seen and heard
My knowing exactly just how I feel
Forever believing what is truly real
Here long before man’s written word
Desiring to make everything all his own
While putting Mother Nature in her place
His soul as collateral, living on god’s loan
He gives her white wings and a human face
By these written words, a wink and nod
Man has become his own false god
Out to conquer all at a maddening pace
I believe in mockingbirds and blue jays
And the painful barbed sting of a honeybee
They never tell me to change my old ways
Or partake of the fruit from a forbidden tree
Man’s god prods me not which way to go
Nor what to learn and what not to know
Other than what I can, feel, hear, or see
Like the red eft slowly crossing my path
And an old owl roosting high upon a bough
I will not fear the god of man’s wrath
And shall accept what nature does allow
Man’s words or his god can never decide
Upon which breeze swan’s down will ride
Before man’s written words and even now
Reclaiming stolen ground beneath his temple
Issuing wild cries in his public squares
From an earlier time, seemingly simple
Matching eye to eye, the disbelieving stares
Not of any one mold man’s god was cast
Reminding everyone of their primitive past
And any ongoing, inconsiderate foolish affairs
Last Autumn’s leaves blanket the forest floor
Shades of brown, dry and slowly crumbling
Walls, stained glass windows, or a locked door
Cannot shut out the thunder’s rumbling
Man’s words can never quell the call of a loon
And never will they draw down the moon
Regardless of writings or prayerful mumbling
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