Lions Mane

Cold and clear, still winter night

Ozark mountain moon

wood stove creaks, the fire burns bright

coyotes howl in tune

Yard dogs perk their ears and rise

joining in the song

howling to their kin of old

the tribe from which they come

Listening, i wonder if

the people of this land

who fished and hunted, lived and died

would better understand

And what if we, the people now

could hear them sing and drum?

Would we stop and join the song

then watch for them to come?

By daylight would we wander looking

for our kin of old,

sniffing trails and checking scat

so fresh as not yet cold?

And if our friend or cousin

chose to wander off for good,

would we hear their voices

on a full moon in the wood?