On the twelfth day of November, the people heard the call, Love came swift upon the wind, wagging with the fall. An equine of air galloped out and made them smile and dance. Bow at her majesty, at your bravery, your “this time’s” last chance. The day rose with a quiet, a great hush upon the ground, whispering Love, the air and eagles searching for a sound. Morning called down its gleam with brushstrokes before unseen, the sun stood fearless, the sky as cushion, Love and rage between. Brighten now flower, brighten full and bloomed. Brighten water, flow your sweet nectar and paint a scene, humanity, not slaughter. Bring your joy, tote your love, and haul in your fullness of affection, your glee, your laughter, and your peace, to move in all directions. Open your singular mind and alert your most ready heart, Rise up, stand up, rock the walls to freedom’s new start! Rise up, sit up, shake the walls to freedom’s new start! Rise up, get up, sway the walls to freedom’s...
(The Weaver's Song)