Mist of ancient civilisations is exhaled as we breathe,
As stones retain their secrets beneath soil; And rivers, their destinies.
We are complex in our simplicity,
Simple in our complexity -
But cannot say where, what or why -
We only continue to move forward into the unknown;
Slightly fearful; A bit adventurous; Abundantly mortal.
Fields ploughed under shall reveal a new chance at rising;
Lakes turn and unveil their crustaceans dreams.
As tempestuous winds blow,
We quietly weep;
Our tears are carried aloft into the embrace of clouds,
To be returned with gentle rain that soothes and heals.
We dress ourselves for the day's intentions,
Rarely glancing in the mirror;
Unless to smooth wrinkles of cloth,
knowing our faces cannot be altered
Except by time's wretched, unswerving hands.
The word around town is that,
We are unruly children,
And still in our wildness.