Pan

What's to say drops of rain don't breathe? 

And live and dance and feel and grieve?

What separates them from those wicked

beasts that we call tears as they trace 

the familiar route down our face? 

And what's to say the birds don't see 

the frailty of hearts that beat? 

Tender dreams and dark desires aloft 

in skies with wings beating soft

What's to say that willow trees know not

the feeling of a wrenching loss? 

In roots and bones and beautiful leaves

oak and cedar, sweet relief 

To mammals in your lonely woe 

take solace from your sunlit home

the beating heart of Mother Earth

is there if you just listen and

If you care