(You can hear it here, but this is not really singing, just yelling at different frequencies)

 

Just a Stump Song

 

Sit and kindly listen to my story of a Tree and a boy and a girl and a vision and me.

About a hundred years ago, maybe a little more,

a squirrel picked up an acorn and he made a little bore

and he packed it in his pocket of the loving Mother Earth

and he ran away and left it for the miracle of birth.

 

Oh, heís got vision.

 

Then the pocket puckers open and the Tree begins to sprout

and it grows into the sunshine and her limbs are branching out,

and the laughter and the learning that collect within her shade

are included in the rings within the heartwood she has made.

 

Oh, sheís got vision.

 

Then she grows into the heavens and she grows into the Earth

and she grows into the memories recorded in her girth,

and the people gather Ďround her and admire her, Ďtill her age

causes lofty limbs to wither to a precarious stage,

and a man looks up and sees a limb that one day will fall down,

and for the sake of safety has our Tree cut to the ground.

 

Oh, heís got vision.

 

And the people saw a shadow instead of the mighty Tree

and they asked themselves and others if this was necessary,

and instead of talking ugly and continuing to grump

they formed a group to renovate the Treeís remaining Stump.

 

Oh, theyíve got vision.

 

And instead of using chainsaws and instead of going fast,

they chipped away with hand tools that would make the process last

so that everyone that wanted to contribute to the Tree

would have time to take advantage of the opportunity,

because things donít have to be completed right away, my friend,

when the process is considered to be greater than the end.

 

Oh, tunnel vision.

 

And they worked between their duties to their teachers and their peers

and they found that their commitment may take a couple of years,

and they left it for the summer to return to work that fall,

but they hadnít met a deadline they knew nothing of at all

so the stump was ground to bits and then the ground was smooth and clean

and the Tree to be remembered is now lost within the Green.

 

Oh, whereís the Vision?

 

Now it really, really bothers me and now I wonder why

people look right through each other when they donít see eye to eye.

And I wonder why Iím singing this peculiar little song

because Iím not really saying if Iím right or if Iím wrong.

Iím just letting out some sounds because Iím wanting to be heard

Ďcause itís not about the Tree as much as itís about our Word,

for all Living Things must die, this means the Humans and the Trees,

but our Word lives on forever, longer than our memories,

and our Word is our beginning and our Word will be our end,

and our Word is only Good if we can keep it True, my Friend.

 

So to those of you I promised would have opportunity

to return to work and finish the Memorial to Our Tree,

I ask for your forgiveness, and my throat contains a lump

as my Word disintegrated with the grinding of the Stump.

 

Oh, I need Vision.

 

 

 

P. Michael Quinn

June, 2006

 

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