I'll be under my tree,
Where even those who know me
Don't know where to find me
Where I always am.
Listening to the sounds
Of the living world
Dying at the hands
Of the striving world.
Where my feet touch earth
And my hands feed birth,
Someday she will find me,
Lounging near my tree.
Together or nay,
To wheat or to hay
What will be will be
But we will Be free.
