Young trees, still beneath the cover of the forest,
Under the green canopy of their elders,
Learn from the love of the older trees.
Hive-mind, in a way, grows within them,
Although without brains it is more like Hive-soul.
And so it is that while each tree is individual,
Unique unto itself, and unique by its kind,
Birch different from elm, different from pine,
It is also a part of the whole, the woods, the forest.
And here we are, people of many lands,
People of many colors, and somehow we fail
To learn and love that we are all people of the earth.
We could learn from the trees.
The bell sounds, and then again.
And through the tolling I hear
The call of life, the call of the sacred.
I give myself to the silence,
To the sacred.
On this day, be it my first day
Or my last, I give myself
-for those who went before-