For I told the wind not to sigh for me,
And I left it to its business.
For I told it to sigh,
For the woman with the photo,
And the man at the table for one,
But not me.
No, for me,
I told it to go to the sun,
And be warmed.

And I told the trees not to bow for me,
As I walked upon their midst,
I told them to bend with the burdens,
Of the ones with the stars
Fresh and gold,
In their hands (gripped tightly to the pointed corners)
In their eyes (sparkling in the thousand drops)
And the holes
In their hearts
For the ones
With the holes
In their heads
But not for me.
For me I told them to spring to the sky,
And find life.

For I told the wind not to sigh for me,
And the caverns ought not echo my name,
And I beseeched the clouds to cry,
For those with no water to spare.
And I asked the sun not to burn for me,
When hunger burns in the stomachs,
Of so many others.

For I told the wind not to sigh for me,
And I left it to its business.
And it, in turn, left those empty blue skies,
And was warmed.