Written on the Wind

I stumble in this foreign tongue and try to make the talk
I speak of when this land was young and of my brother hawk
My spirit voice is hard to hear … I have so long been gone
But I will whisper in your ear and having spoke move on

This finger pushed into the sea of sand and swamp and pine
Has been a welcome home to me … I sing this land of mine
Of night-song sung in joyous trill, by every kind of fowl
Of chickadee and whippoorwill … of warning from the owl

Of plenty fish and wild oats … of berries blue and red
That danced their way down happy throats to bellies always fed …
Of rivers coursing through green world of gleaming golden lake
Of alligator hog and squirrel … of moccasin, the snake

The screaming panther ruled the pine … the eagle ruled the sky …
Aah! Will you hear these words of mine? Will you even try?
I have no words on talking leaves, for you to read, my friend
For all this simple man believed was written on the wind

©2014 Tom Cordle