What feathers hold aloft the birds
That sing among the trees at night,
And yet allow the branches to fall
Downward to eternity?
The brittle bones of nature’s army,
Withering from force of blight,
Though strong enough to carry forth
Those visitors who shake the leaves,
And gather choirs long forgotten,
Set upon a diff’rent path
That leads to rivers flowing far beyond
The reach of conscious fear
To inlets and to fields aflame with
Mother Nature’s righteous wrath,
To skies whose clouds have burned away
And left the journey forward clear.