The Alder Trees

The alder trees are listening to songs been sung before
My friend and I collecting skeletons of leaves
Marking tiny piles, and sifting through the weeds
Wind blows the tiny green, tiny green
Wind blows the tiny green, helicopter seeds
Wind blows the tiny green, tiny green
Wind blows the tiny green, helicopter seeds
Oh! wandering in days unfolding
With paths fashioned of mud and snakeskin
Oh! wandering in days unfolding
With paths fashioned of mud and snakeskin
of mud and snakeskin
I think about the ladies who weren’t allowed to sing
Sewing all their pretty rows of thread instead of seed
And what about the black braided sisters of Marie?
We sat upon upon their grinding rock as children used to be
Beneath the knotted pine, knotted pine
Beneath the knotted pine at the garden’s edge
Beneath the knotted pine, knotted pine
Beneath the knotted pine at the garden’s edge
Oh, laughing! Little girls clapping
And ghosts weaving our hair to baskets
Oh, laughing! Little girls clapping
And ghosts weaving our hair to baskets
our hair to baskets
I can hear the elders whispering in words so sweet and low
The alder trees are listening to songs been sung before
My friend and I collecting skeletons of leaves
Making tiny piles and sifting through the weeds
Making tiny piles and sifting through the weeds