Sing the Old Songs

I see the branches,

Reaching, grabbing for beauty,

With the mountains beyond,

And the clouds texture the sky,

And sing the old songs.

Watch the shades of nature

Blend into one

And become the Son,

And the Mother.

See them hand in hand

With the stars and planets,

Their sisters and brothers.

And watch them die with the ages

And grow with the new year,

Struggling to cover the scars

And hide the tears.

I see the branches,

Reaching grabbing for beauty,

And the mountains beyond,

And the clouds texture the sky,

And sing the old songs.