We pan for gold in souls,
stripping away the streets
to find songbirds sheltered beneath.
I met a man
with so little to his name
who gave more than he took,
I met a man
without a passport
who helped to heal the world,
I met a man
who slept in a tent
and wrote poetry.
Their words formed songs
and their songs formed smiles
and up stood Humanity
and shook its head in defiance,
as if to say:
I shall not be subdued.
And as clothes made way for feathers
and arms made way for wings
they took flight into cold city night
and the air was filled
with the sound of spring.
We pan for gold in souls,
stripping away the streets
to find songbirds sheltered beneath.