The monsoon has replenished the desert with life;
Streambeds are aflowin', and life-force is ripe.
Falltime is acomin', and the air has some bite;
Daytime half-rules, and wildlife's in sight.
Won't you hurry, hurry, hurry home!
Won't you hurry, hurry, hurry home!
Mother Nature is acomin' to check all our blights;
Our Source is acallin' to divorce wrongs from rights.
Storm clouds mate sunlight, Earth's first primal rite:
The passage to meaning that gives matter life.
Won't you hurry, hurry, hurry home!
Won't you hurry, hurry, hurry home!
Instincts are arisin', to mate reason with light.
Our soul is aburnin', to re-fire our birthrights.
7/2007
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