You look like nothing more than mere ridges
From the distance where my seat is now at,
And the small twigs I see must be bridges,
Crossing over where the water was spat.
The ground is covered with powdered sugar,
Enticing me with this earthly dessert.
If I could just reach down with my finger,
I could taste the confectionary dirt,
But the breeze blows in the cotton candy,
Obscuring my view of what is below.
I hold in my head, those dreams, so dandy
Of the plane’s cooking television show.
During my trip, it is hard to compete
With the view I see from my window seat.
I know that we are facing our winter,
But the turn of the world has reached spring,
So let’s put behind us all that’s bitter,
And go out and enjoy the blossoming.
We will welcome the rest of the city
As we venture beyond our hobbit hole.
The people will let us join their party
Even though we move only at a stroll.
White will not longer have a bitter chill
As it clings to the tips of the branches.
Guiding our path, we will hear the sweet trill
Of the returning, forgotten finches.
Come my dear, for it may be the last time
we can witness the changing of the clime.
Listen as the wind runs through the cedars,
Telling tales of the Shogun who fought here.
They came to pay respect to respect to their leaders,
And to console them from their greatest fear.
The land was torn apart from civil war
As the blood of men stained the frozen ground.
Many sacrifices were lost to lore,
And only the cedars could hear their sound.
After all the monuments have been built,
And the tourists have come to take their pictures
No on will remember the life blood spilt
Except for the wind running through the cedars.
Will you stop to listen to the tale told,
And the numerous lesson that they hold.
What is this fence between me and my fun?
What makes the players on the other side
Think that they reside on another sun
Where my kind won’t be allowed to abide?
Seeing them over there, getting their pets
Makes me ask why there are none over here.
This skinny line divides where the sun sets,
But the difference it creates is clear.
That is the land of opportunity
That likes to hold back from the land of none.
They believe in their superiority
Belongs to the history of their gun.
So I will just stand here and stare across
At the land of plenty which is my loss.