The rain became warm

Days grow deep and long and slow

Everything is green

Squeeze me inbetween

Floating cloud and still river

The banks brink breaks brooks

Once we wore feathers

To measure our victories

Now it’s followers

Morning halos buds

With glowing glistening gold

Is this story told?

Though May be full out

The arctic blast makes me doubt

I’ll e’er cast my clout

Your warbling song call

Too fast for me to follow

Still settles my heart

We too inhale this

Pungently infectious scent

Our ancestors smelt

A sea of clover

Shows us which way the wind blows

But questions still grow

Fire, food, friends, fortune

Is not the things you possess

But the things you share

Reeds whisper when blown

Let the current take me home

The heron has flown

Time cannot be made

Can’t beg, borrow, steal or save

Ticking to the grave