by P. R. Lowe
copyright © July 20, 2015
(from Brother, Sister, written in 1970)

Wind…Flowers
singing in the sun
makes me humble
Stories are told
in the distant rumble
comes thunder
and I go under
this immaculate conception
father Earth and mother Moon
where there is no deception
their perfection
in the smallest creature
every feature having reason
It is treason how we use them
Let me not abuse them
Let my spirit dwell upon the leaves
at peace within my mother’s breeze