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(click logo for words and music to the Internationale)

When willows grow beside the stream
Leaving leaves floating silently toward the sea
You shall find me beside the stream
Waiting quietly for
sunsets and
Fourth of July picnics.
You shall find me
Waiting quietly beside the willows
Weeping not for the lost ones
Waiting not for their return,
simply watching the leaves slowly float
toward the sea
quietly
peacefully
willingly
floating
to the
sea

and what if I should win
what, then
fame or peace?
Which is it?
When the music flows like the sunrise settles
upon the horizon, like the
wind itself
settles upon the
contours of the
windows into
the soul
itself, or
into the poem
of hope itself,
yes, the embodiment of hope within the music,
within the music, the embodiment of the
music, the
soul, the visual,
the
art,
at least
tries,
at least
settles into the trickle
of a small stream
somewhere
making
almost silent
peace.