Ancient Flute by Richard Hall

I was born before humans dreamed of walking this earth -

Born when my father, the wind caressed my mother,

          the tree

And I am the dawn of music -

The whistle of pines when the moon

          brightens the snow covered hills

The rustle of leaves when a summer

          breeze touches an aspen grove

The low moaning of late autumn winds

          through the ragged bark of an ancient oak.

 

And now, as spirits dream the human song of life,

I am the gift that speaks

          of their primal past,

                    of their tie to all that is -

The gift of wood from my mother,

          The gift of breath from my father

                    The singing of the human soul

                              The healing of the human heart.