Praise Song

Praise the local, composted, and small.
Look what springs from last year's garbage.
Who needs a committee?
Who needs Republicans or Democrats?
Look what springs from coffee grinds and worm dung.
Who needs capital letters after their name?
Praise the local, composted, and small.
Who needs nations, states, and borders?
Nature bends straight lines, and curves right angles.
Our cheeks are the forest, our bones are the mountains,
our thoughts are the clouds, our clarity the sky.
Our wealth is a meadow of anemones in April.
Who needs Goldman Sachs or the Federal Reserve?
Look what springs from old broccoli and yam skins.
Who needs enemies?
Look over your backyard fence:
just neighbors, gardening in old hats,
as far as the eye can see.
Look what springs from seeds delighting in themselves.
Praise the local, composted, and small.
Who needs more than enough?
Who needs more than enough?
Look what springs from your heart.


To hear this poem: LINK