Windsong Poem by Lisa Z.

A box lovingly crafted 

three little girls

played music

their emotions 

Ballerina dreams

Tucked inside 

evidence 

magical times

trinkets of all kinds

Gift in the forest 

natives used to roam

where other children 

once called

this space home

The forest 

no boundaries

though we try

we draw

disagree

sign them up

for the passerby

The eyes

see a fraction

the ears

detect the obvious

carpeted across 

a world upon a universe

a million tiny doors

Hisses 

chirps

ticks

tocks

birdsong

wind 

play in the orchestra too

enter

reeds agree

let us bend for you

Listen

it’s all here

for you

we are

here for you

Slow down

look

your feet 

participate 

Pinch pots 

vintage books 

a water view 

Eyes are on the outside

looking at you 

A billion lenses

pressured eyes

waiting 

watching 

what’s next

How would he feel

Hiawatha

he could see

what we've done

pushed the majestic

edges

disenfranchised the rest

Meanwhile

fry up some bacon 

flip a pancake

after all

you’re the newest owner

the shack by the lake

A symbolic box

stands to command

Our place in time

Shouldn't we own it

Pluck

fish

Pluck

mushrooms 

Pluck 

huckle berries

Should we give back

Memories

a lifetime 

curated

inside

ooze 

old cedar pores

a new story begins

Spirit 

native child

I beg you 

to rise

Please

Coax you 

trees 

protect

the littles inside

Wooden music box

white

steel lid

carved butterflies

assigned 

hope 

next gen gets it right