The Wild Things Still Live

This poem won't bring back the fallen,
but it can sing a dirge that mourns their loss.
This poem won't bring social justice,
but it can strike a note that urges change.

This poem won't feed hungry mama bears,
but it can whisper to people on the trail,
"back away quietly;
let's leave her in peace."

This poem won't protect wolves
wandering into the village because
they have no home, but it will love them
and beg the wildlife officers not to shoot.

This poem won't heal my broken heart,
at all the suffering in the world,
but it can pour out a small stream of pain
to help ease the ache.

The shaman said, our poems, our art, our joy,
is our resistance. He said when we sing and dance
and tend the spirit, it helps Mother Earth.

Here, then, is my sad little poem,
when my words and my heart
have gone silent.
Here, then, is a soupçon of joy
that, no matter what,
in spite of us,
some of the wild things
still live.

for open link at earthweal