For song of bird and hum of bee, for night and morning light For mother love and father pride, what do I make of these? Where will this body go, who will it love? Who will hurt, will it be enough? And the wind will always blow To return blossom to bone For the tallest branches, for all they see All of my efforts will disappear with me Will I know my neighbor? Will he know me? The wind will always blow To return blossom to bone A name to a skyscraper, a pen to a paper To breaking bread with a stranger Where will this body go, who will it love? Who will it hurt, will it be enough? But the wind will always blow To return blossom to bone