We bow to the four directions,
Parents, Teachers, Spouse and Kin
The Sanga of the sky,
The Roots below we grow within
And that to others we are them
That is the crystal and
clear gem
This temple, once a Christian camp,
The bell meant time for Christian Mass,As Isaiah in the year King Uzziah died,
In a room filled with the hem of His robe
We are not cloven sheep, who bleat
Please treat us fairly,
we entreat
When noon sun’s high the fire whistle blows
A wailing sound that all dogs know
As they run to the edge of the yard
In answer to their howling canine god,
Anubis, Cerberus, Akela !
We run with you, how-wool !
How how how-wool - back at ‘cha !
No comments:
Post a Comment