if you ask what i remember

from my laureate days

it is a thin, rare song.

 

children i’d loved

since infancy

stretched out their voices

to the sky, in the gym

of the school that we saved

in a song about whooping cranes

singing again in the wind

because we dared to say

extinction is not manifest destiny

reckless greed not paramount

selfishness not insurmountable.

 

cranes return every year

children grow up

the old school stands, full

new dreams, new voices

fledgling years, each in turn

taking flight.

 

i sang with my eyes closed

the open heart holds enough.