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The world is old and hums with power
In many voices; I should know
I speak for all that comes to flower
I came to being in a bower
Born of the wild’s ebb and flow
The world is old and hums with power
My home a woods and not a tower
I wield no fire, bend no bow
I speak for all that comes to flower
I could not order sun nor shower
But crops were mine to kill or grow
The world is old and hums with power
I feel my fate in some dark hour
What will my story have to show?
I spoke for all that comes to flower
Although I fear, I will not cower
My face shows where I chose to go
The world is old and hums with power
I spoke for all that came to flower.
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