by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The trees whisper.
He will not lay us low
with the blade,
or render us invisible
with the axe —
So we will light his way
with birds,
music to titillate
his broken heart.
We will get the white bear
to lay salmon at our feet,
streams overflowing
with the red fish.
He believes
he is kin to us
as he climbs
the rocky cliffs
and looks out
across the valley,
exchanging chemicals
with us
like human beings
exchanging pheromones.
fourwindowspress 
Every line is so real.
Ive been reading this over and over, Ethel, enjoying the steady calm voice and the sound of the lines, and picturing the scene with its colours and smells!
Reads like an even flowing stream.
Another piece of great beauty, Ethel.