Fly aghast, succumb to joy;
Nor fetter those waxen feathers,
Nor below look at fires spit in yore,
Nor chisel away at bark long so dead,
Lay gaze at few and turn head to none,
A breath is tolled on whose wings ye fall,
Now better spent by nests in hourly call,
Upon the tree nor solitude is yet to spell,
Now burns a hatred for the Man to pass,
So his essence wane, that all trees fade,
Lest his fire is come, ere us all be swept,
Though a bird’s cry is ill-heard in cities far,
A wave of change is spent and cast aside,
For politics alone shrieks even bears away,
And calls a siren to the nearest fire lay,
Though time nor time lost is gotten free,
That these caves of glow on sides of Earth
Ring even Moon’s light deny in dark forsake,
Now fly free and let smoke in us imprison;
When one man walks, he walks in memory.

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Nature, Poetry, Works
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