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Crying to the Spirits ©

Nat Hall
Sandwick, Shetland
2004

Everything on our Earth
handcuffed
to a purpose;
every disease a herb,
as cure for every ill - every man
a mission, a means for existing;
at one in the prairie,
buffalo or eagle,
voices
from the spirits.
Power around our world always
works in circles; from father to his son,
wild whirls born within wind -
like seeds for each season...
From our sun, stars and moon, where
everyone should learn, we cry
to the spirits.
Wisdom words in ashes, we turn
to Mother Earth for
ambers of mercy,
still burning in our souls
to avoid oblivion -
the hawk is
still
soaring.


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