we are the women that time near forgot

 Hear the call of ancient trees, breathing for us, ssssssssss and whoooooo.
Aren't they alive in us and for us? We drink their air and bless their beauty.

I am an old woman and I sometimes forget.
That mine were the people of healing and birth.
If I stand very still and listen to wind,
I feel new branches sprouting from my skin.

But oh, the axe man could not believe,
The reverence with which we were adorned.
So, he and his kin chopped us all down,
Seizing our power and burning our bodies.

Instead of unity came power and control.
Instead of healing they stole and destroyed.
They seemed to be monsters - so many, so loud,
They cried when we spoke and laughed when we frowned.

Soon we will take from them the axe and the saw.
Soon we will send them to places of no return.
We will join in a circle and show off our leaves,
We'll dance with the joy of a newly freed bud.

And sing? We will sing! A song of our blood,
A song of the precious life force WE contain,
A song about giving and healing and love,
A song to rekindle our heart's warmest wishes.

We'll seek to embrace everything gentle and wise.
We'll walk through the night without fear of the axe.
We'll build a new world that knows sharing and grace.
For we are the women that time near forgot.