seasons by Lilli Furfaro

holy
holy, holy are our bodies
hidden, buried in the dirt
waiting
waiting for the years to change us
set apart to feed the earth

and as your seasons change
it is our privilege to know your names
for when you come our way
it is our privilege to plant you back in place
beneath the grass, beneath the clay

holy
holy, holy is my family
keepers of our mother’s grove
leaving
leaving home to find some healing
me and the garden all alone

but as the seasons change
the sickness spreads and the decay remains
but then there comes a day
our mother speaks, and there’s some people here
to show me there’s a world beyond the graves

holy
is the path on which she leads me
though sometimes it’s hard to see
learning
every stumble has its purpose
i’m still afraid, but i believe

and as the seasons change
she leads me on to see my family saved
and in the coming days
i lead another on her path,
one she’s been calling since she found him on the waves

holy
holy, holy are our bodies
and the life within our bones
waiting
waiting for a sign to show me
that it’s time to go back home.

• Folk
• folk
• indie
• Toronto