If it only could happen, that during this pause,
we listen (when humanity withdraws)
to birdsong, quiet, the howl and the breeze,
and know Earth as priceless, and everyone sees
From moss, to fern, to loftiest pine
the sinuous dance of the clambering vine
the scaly, the shelled, the mushroom and mold,
the bee and the salamander, fragile and cold.
Could this be the day we find ourselves able
to set down our plates, step away from the table
The feasting is over, we’ve all had our fill
and Life’s story, unfinished, flourishes still.