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There are tribal chants among the trees
And I see lavender blossoms dance across the breeze
As roots take hold beneath the bending ash—
In this spring of our lives.

Many perish within the season of death,
But for us, a call has brought us back, given new breath.
Vines are taking color, crawling upward
On old trees that stand so tall around us.

We are not like the others
In a jungle of differences, we are lovers;
And in frosted winter, we huddled close,
So spring might call us forth again, together.

My arms outstretch and grow new leaves,
And from the canopy above, sun dappling my body receives.
My fingers outstretch and vines take hold
Of your hand, amid this jungle spring.

We have struggled in the past and will again,
Wilting under the pressure of going against the grain,
But my roots are firmly planted and entangled
With yours within the soil of life.

Never will your spirit grow alone
Or quiver and shiver beneath the unknown,
For I am with you, though small I may seem;
I am here until Death’s season comes even for me.

We are different from the others,
You and I being such deeply-rooted lovers,
Among a jungle of destitution and disparity,
We lean toward one another.