in the womb of green needles
and the dark brown scent of ashen bark
where cedar trees sing
of the wet winds on cold nights
and the lights across the water
call to me from the shore
to the homelands that cradled me
with the warmth of ancient fir trees
praying to clear skies with soft clouds
near the circle of stones
where lichens creep with the slowness of ages
and the echoes of water over rock
sound of far off voices
if I should ever leave this place
I fear that I shall never know peace
that I shall birth no other land
and my hands will never rest
may my soul linger here
forever in the twilights of the West
with these sentinel forests ever living within my dreams
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