A wraith was writhing in the air,
its undulating shape so fair;
just like a woman slim and tall —
I followed with no fear at all.
Drifting, she led me through the trees
under branches, upon my knees,
until I found myself quite lost —
my folly gained, but at what cost?
I sat upon a log and thought
of this misfortune I had wrought —
from the mist, to my surprise,
a female form materialized.
A lithesome beauty, to be sure,
approached me with a gaze so pure.
I sat transfixed, afraid to move
expecting that this shape would prove,
perhaps, to be a daylight dream,
evanescent, not what it seemed —
a vision that would fade from sight
as quickly as a beam of light.
Yet, she remained and held my hand,
explained, so I could understand —
the holy earth is our Mother,
the deer and trees are our brothers.
Everyone shares a common root
though each produces different fruit.
Our Mother Earth gives birth to all —
the things that walk, fly, swim and crawl.
This planet is here for us to use
to grow our crops, not to abuse.
Winds and rains and things that glisten
each have stories if we listen.
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They Call Me Red:
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Private Eye: Eugene Leftowicz
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