These ants

The ants that drum out

Their mythic pattern do not

Drum for you, for your

Concerns, do not bring

Answers for you to ponder.

These trees as they sway,

This moon, these stars,

This wind, rain, these

Endless spirits do not

Come to you with

Gifts from the beyond.

Nay, the world is not

A messenger, the world

Is thee, and thee the

World, and the ants

The beasts, the winds

The spirits all thy

Truest incarnation

As much thee as thy

Voice thine.

They not speak to you,

You listen, and your ears

May open to the tremor

Of boundless wonder that

Awaits you as you open

Your eyes to your divine.