Self

Is it in the sky
Falling from the pine
Does it grow from the ashes of the fire?

I can't see it's face
But it takes the shape
Of the mountainside we stop to admire

We can hear it's here
When we inhale, exhale the head clear
Holding the hands we hold dear
Run from the arms of our fears and grow

How it whispers close
It can't save our souls
For it lives in us, upon our earth

What does it speak of
So we feel it's love
Does it ask us for something in return?