Here, on the pulse of this fine day

On our planet floor,

Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.

The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,

Your armed struggles for profit

Very simply

Women, children, men,

I am yours--your passages have been paid.

Face down in ignorance.

I am the tree planted by the river,

And say simply

Which will not be moved.

If you will study war no more.

With hope

The image of your most public self.

The rock, the river, the tree, your country.

Take it into the palms of your hands.

You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,

There is a true九九藏書 yearning to respond to

Back and face your distant destiny,

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,

For this bright morning dawning for you.

But seek no haven in my shadow.

To fear, yoked eternally

You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,

No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Good morning.

Traveller, has been paid for.

You may have the courage

And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.

Each of you, descendant of some passed on

Have left collars of waste upon

To brutishness.

Armed for slaughter.

My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

The river sings and sings o九-九-藏-書n.

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot...

The African and Native American, the Sioux,

Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,

Delicate and strangely made proud,

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow

Here on the pulse of this new day

Each new hour holds new chances

I will give you no hiding place down here.

Praying for a dream.

Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.

You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,

Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom

Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

A river sings a beautiful song,

Hosts to species longhttps://reａｄ.９9ｃｓw.ｃom since departed,

The bruising darkness,

Desperate for gain, starving for gold.

You, created only a little lower than

But do not hide your face.

Today, the first and last of every tree

Each of you a bordered country,

Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs

The day breaking for you.

You, who gave me my first name,

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,

You may have the grace to look up and out

The horizon leans forward,

The singing river and the wise rock.

Into your brothers face, your country

Offering you space to pｒｅａd•9９csｗ.cｏmlace new steps of change.

Your mouths spelling words

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,

The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,

Have lain too long

Lift up your hearts.

Mold it into the shape of your most

Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

Give birth again

The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,

Left me to the employment of other seekers--

Mark the mastodon.

Do not be wedded forever

Across the wall of the world,

Of their sojourn here

To look up and out upon me,

Lift up your eyes upon

The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,

I, the rock, I the river, I the tree

Lift up y九*九*藏*書our faces, you have a piercing need

Come, you may stand upon my

The speaking of the tree.

A Rock, A River, A Tree

Then forced on bloody feet,

To the dream.

Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare

The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.

Here, root yourselves beside me.

Private need. Sculpt it into

The Creator gave to me when I

Need not be lived again.

History, despite its wrenching pain,

The dinosaur, who left dry tokens

And into your sisters eyes,

Come rest here by my side.

The angels, have crouched too long in

For new beginnings.

They hear. They all hear

And the tree and stone were one.