Country, delicate and strangely made proud yet thrusting perpetually under siege. Your arm struggles for profits have lest currents of debris upon my breast. Yet today i call you to my riverside if you will study war no more. Come clad in peace, and i will sing the songs the creator gave to me when i, and the tree and the rock were one. Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow, and when you yet new you still new nothing. The river sang and sings on. There is a true yearning to respond to the Singing River and the wise rock. So say the asian hispanic, jew, African Native american sioux, catholic, muslim, french, greek, irish, the rabbi, the priest, the sheik, the gay, the straight, the preacher, the privileged the homeless the teacher. They all hear the speaking of the tree. They hear the first and last of every tree speak to human kind today. Come to me here beside the river. Plant yourself beside the river. Each of you accident end of some passedon traveler has been paid for
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