Echoing through time
Native chants fill the forests,
The wind bristles in answer
Shaking the leaves like a rattle.
Crickets provide percussion,
Night birds observe and speak,
They are the radar for predator and prey
Hiding in darkness to live or die.
Among the many there are the few
Among the dreamers some are awake
Consulting ancestors, dancing quietly.
The night is alive - a symphony.
My senses are listening as I sleep.
The lakes are the dew are the rain are the lakes.
Spirit Mother sees to it and demands balance
Father Spirit demands adherence to rigid rules.
Suddenly the crickets are quiet...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem