The Ancestors Poem by Koo Kooo

The woods are green and bright,
while covering by the sun's rays or the soft rain
the sky's almost always, shine and blue
behind the white and happy and clear clouds
together with the busy swallows
deeply red and hue are the furrows
where my ancestors,
born and married and lived and died
without any machines
and armies and kings and queens
and even any boundaries.

How did they die?
They died peacefully,
surely, peacefully
Why?
For there, until now,
the birds are still singing,
the flowers, still blooming,
the stream, still flowing wildly,
and the night, still dark and restful
Really, still dark and restful.


Ko Ko Oo