Sometimes I wake up hungry,
Though never am I starved.
Room might be rather chilly,
But within my heart is heat
To push away North wind.
Even though I wake up tired,
Am thankful for the rest last night.
Last night before I slept,
Heard distant whistle of a train,
Slowly going up a hill
Against November wind—
Followed by cry of solitary owl ,
Sounding melancholy in the dark.
It seemed the world tonight
Held no merry note, only pain and fear.
Looking out my window,
I saw blood upon the streets;
Dam was breached and there was
Stagnant water now poisoning the trees,
Flowing down rivers, killing all the fish.
Tonight there is only lonely cry of the owl.
“Who? Who? Who?” Who will speak
For others now laying under stars?
Who will answer knock upon the door,
Provide a place to rest within the inn?
Who will speak for those now hungry,
Cold and tired—as sometimes I have been?
And all I hear is the voice of a solitary bird
Crying in the wind: “Who? Who? Who?”