by Avery Markle
The world once tossed your native soul
to valleys of love where all is born.
And in these hills the trees did sing,
the rivers brought forth the rhythm of wind.
Your vagrant mind and wisdom old
uplift the fires in your native soul.
Your eyes reflect those of your mother;
honey glazed, and sweet like velvet summer.
Your lips do dance much like your father’s;
they speak of lives as vast as water.
Lift your eyes and sing to stars,
dance with shadows lost to war.
For war is kept the devil’s deed,
and you have lost all enemies.
Remember this, you native soul:
your years will rise, you will get old.
The magic of the world will grow,
with every passing day you’ll know.
You came from stardust, and you came from dirt,
you are all that’s left of earth.