I've left behind the crimes and Congress, stock
Exchange, the daily news -- they're all the same,
They do not change from year to year, yet lock
Our minds to them as to a tiny flame.
I've left behind the petty things -- the crimes
Of governments remain the same, the words
We speak repeat, and history still rhymes.
I'd rather hear the call of speckled birds --
I'd rather hear the ocean sing and see
The painted bunting flit between the leaves --
I'd rather feel the granite scrape my knee --
I'd rather taste the air as my chest heaves.
I'd rather smell your hair and tink our rings --
For these are all the most important things.