In the early dawn of the first Autumn day, In a small town-- Few to whom had known, Awoke a young orphan boy.
As usual he made his way through the town, While silently his soul did sing, Through the thick of the woods-- to the edge of the lake, By the way of the winding spring.
At the bank of the lake he sat quiet and still, That even the animals knew, Of his wisdom's taught, by nature's insight he wrought, And to all he lends wisdom hitherto.
And over the years of seventy and nine, His shadow as one did twine, With the leaves and the trees-- by the sun's peaceful ease, To a wreath of the soul and the vine.
He only spoke once that the town people heard, From a drifter of the lands of the free, So he said once he heard-- like a flittering bird, Chirping psalms of the gods begging pleas
And as the orphan died he spoke before the trees,
What can I offer to you, Least that which you already possess, But a token far above-- written knowledge, spoken love, Hereof noble scarlet blood may you bless.
The grave of death calls out to me, As I am weary and soon to pass, For those graves of the soil-- stretch far to the sea, With the roots of all souls springing up through the grass.
Here at my death I wonder, what of life-- and living have I learned, Have your psalms been remembered, For your souls too shall surrender, one day, And my spirit now moves by its freedom so yearned.
We are all born from the same dust, And spring forth to the light, Reaching up to the height, Of the source of the envy-- of the cold black of night.
And even as the dry leaf in my hand is crushed, and scatters in the soil, So too by a greater hand am I returned to the earth, And even as the farmer-- for his crops will so toil, From his efforts shall he eat, for his misery shall yield mirth
We are born that all may live, That all indeed will be born, That the gift of life be given to the night, By the break of the dawn-- of the morn's early light.
And I know now that my youth is spent,
And what may I say of youth, Except it be the wish of the old, That the start of the finish, through time does diminish, That a story you tell-- though it be long, shall be told.
Our youth is not the grace of calm, But the waves of the highest in the sea, That joins the heart, the soul and mind, That shakes and settles the roots of the trees.
It is through the good will of youth, that our souls do so grow, Like the arrow so springs-- from the taut archer's bow, And flies through air like a wedge in the night, As it soars like a razor to the knowledge of light.
It is how we learn that so separates us, from the beasts of the wild, It is that quest that so burns-- in the deep of deep, For the knowledge of gods, Of the infant child's weeps!
Will I ever know of these things,
I seek knowledge even as the trees, branches of leaves Stretch and sway in the wind, that they may each find the sun, For knowledge so shines-- from the sun as it sends, As for life and to live-- our morrow so depends...
Ah, but as tomorrow shall come, even so shall it pass,
For opposition in this life Is the blood in my veins, Like the black roots in the ground Of the shiny gold grains.
You should never be as one constant-- In spirit or body! For even as we are made of bones of hard-- and tender flesh, So too should our spirits be not of all tenderness.
For it is the unbalanced That shall cause even itself to fall, For the moon would not shine-- Should the sun never fall.
And once again I beg of you, do tell,
What can I offer to you, Least that which you already possess, But a token far above-- written knowledge, spoken love, Hereof noble scarlet blood may you bless.
May you bless me that all I have lived for, in knowledge and deed, Be my fare to your paradise-- with assured Godspeed, That the orphan of the trees, my life you have known, That my life as I give-- be my eternal birthstone.
My birthstone to forever, my tomb of today, And I call to your mercy-- as in weakness I lay, For all I have to give to you-- are my mortal remains, To christen this earth, to forever sustain...
So a sustain of life-- by my death do I give, That the green of your leaves by my marrow should live! For it is the twain of our souls-- that do twine into one, Like the night and the day, and the moon and the sun...
And the breath no longer filled his lungs...
And as sure as he died-- the trees youthfully grew, And forever they cried-- leaves mounted in dew, And forever his soul-- with the bird's songs sing, Shining bright in the blue-- waving leaves living green
