my friend stepped out in the morning
just to try to find his feet
in the moment he was looking
for the friend that he might meet
seven sisters in the corner
seven brothers in the back
but a soul that he felt wanting
never knowing what he lacked
every river was a mirror
every bridge a mile to cross
every moment was forever
always sensing all the loss
he pulled back his storied pages
where he scribbled with a pen
and somehow he looked upon them
and knew he had to write again
how we tie all things together
how the generations turn
how we're left to look at others
for the things that we might learn
all the things that others taught him
he must somehow pass them down
when the springtime grass is greening
when the winter's grass is brown
all the teachers by the dozens
the valhalla he can't see
all the gods look down from heaven
in their feigned mortality
in the quiet of each moment
and the noise of every din
how it all finds things in circles
written there and back again
simple chorus always playing
from the birds in every tree
little written on the pages
all the notes he could not see
maybe he should sit and listen
and not orchestrate them all
maybe that is nature's doing
maybe that is nature's call
my friend stepped out in the morning
one lone bird would call his name
and he echoed back in wonder
hoping he could speak the same
simple notes they shared between them
and the song that they would sing
one bird lifted up the other
until both of them took wing