When everyone has a rope
To hold and balance our big
Country high above our heads,
We walk together like nothing is
In our hands or above us at all.
But if we have to march because
There is no rope for us to hold
(See it now starting to float away,
Small in the sky) what do we take
In our hands to bring it back down?
Where would you like to sit
As you watch the world come to an end?
You remember the fragrant infant halo
Of your daughter’s hair and also how
Helpless you felt at her fever and red
Tears as you pressed the cool cloth to
Her head and arms and phoned the doctor
And waited on hold—your broken pleas.
We have called our Earth our mother
So long we’ve forgotten she’s our baby, too.