birch

birch
Trees are poems that Earth writes upon the sky. We fell them down and turn them into paper, that we may record our emptiness. ---Kahlil Gibran

Friday, June 1, 2012

The Garden Song


Inch by inch, row by row,
someone bless these seeds I sow.
Someone warm them from below
till the rain comes tumblin’ down.
 
Pulling weeds and pickin’ stones,
we are made of dreams and bones.

Feel the need to grow my own
‘cause the time is close at hand.

Grain for grain, sun and rain,
find my way in nature’s chain.
Tune my body and my brain
to the music of the land.

Plant your rows straight and long,
temper them with prayer and song.

Mother Earth will make you strong
if you give her love and care.
Old crow watching hungrily
from his perch in yonder tree.
In my garden I’m as free
as that feathered thief up there.
Inch by inch, row by row,
gonna make this garden grow.
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
and a piece of fertile ground.
Inch by inch, row by row,
someone bless these seeds I sow.
Someone warm them from below
till the rain comes tumblin’ down.

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