Colors are what we do as a hive of bees. It is the system we use to live among the trees. It is the food we eat and the way we move. It is our dancing feet and our sacred groove. Dancing your colors means you’re in the nell. And you can sit and rest a spell. The work is hard and the pay off is good. And we like to play in the neighborhood. Play is like sacred life. It has a way of ending strife. With all the money in the world, we never saved one boy or girl. We tested them and told them they were bad. We walked around angry, bored and sad. And we have come to this place here. Where every bird meets every deer. The forest is singing of the temperate earth. The birds are feeding with delight. The trees are blooming all spring long. The rivers are singing an ancient song. Everyone of us has a choice. To our hearts we must give voice. The listening room is all around. Sacred musings from Wren abound. The bounty we seek is right here with us. And thyme has come surely to give us our birthright. Our lives are held by the tribe. Without each other we do not thrive. The thrive revolution is what we seek. So let’s dance our colors and sing and speak.

The Twelve Twelves give us something new. All our knights are proud and blue. We need our men to hold us well. And their hands activate the dwell in our homes and offices and we have so much more to give when we have beauty everywhere. We’re not the lowly worm on the stair. That’s an old story from the past, we have the power to make love last. Love is God and so are we. So, listen wren, what do you see?

I see a vista staring back. It says I’m ugly, I have attack. I see a mountain growing large. I hear a siren and a loud car. I can’t remove myself from the web. The web includes the people I dread. We seem to not contain them well. With them we stutter, hurt and fall. With us we live and dance and sing. We hold the little faerie ring. The flowers are responding to the earth. We are not the ones in birth. But yes we are, on the other hand. Can we finally understand? The time we need a sacred home is now, my loves, for this poem.

So, take the tree inside your heart. And give him something that is your part. Your sacred calling is your poem. And that’s the key to your beautiful home. I can tell you what I love. I love you, turtle dove. I don’t love them anymore, but they are constantly knocking at my door. They watch me daily and with greed. They say I can’t. They cause me to bleed. I bleed in my bed every day. I can’t hold back the way they stray.

They stray all over this green earth. And to our colors we give birth. So, listen, honey come along and we’ll keep singing a rainbow song. The song is supported by source. And yet, they hold us with such force. I get better every day and we shall have the final say. Light takes the tree and grey does not.

It’s like a little dandelion. Yellow grace and green divine. She has a little bitter in her. And the evil likes to spin her. And yet, if you look at her with clean eyes she offers you such a wonderful surprise, like buttercup and violet do, she sends the earth right into you.

A flower has the power of grace. When we hold her with our minds we tend to last in sacred thyme. A bird knows them as well as we, and this is what they say to bees, like you and me, my friend, my love, I just became a mourning dove.

All birds are they say to bees. We agree say the trees. Our grandfather is standing there. He put a ribbon in grandmother’s hair. She laughed and sang a little tune to the faeries for the moon. Listen to her sing that song. And then you know where you belong. Not on the stair, in your chair, rocking and being aware.

Aware, aware, the thyme, the rhyme. The sacred knowing of the tribe. A little gosshawk, a little sparrow, and way to make the stair less narrow. The crooked world. The blackened heart. The one that wants to play no part. In the rhythm of the nell. In the beauty of the dwell. Our home is something that we need. So, little wrens, please take heed. Eat your colors every day. Find your thrive with the way. Sing and dance and make it clean. Establish your roots in the green.

The green earth, the green world. A home for every boy and girl. A home for all of us to be spry and then the birds will simply fly. They land you see, as well my dear. And then they speak of love and cheer. Without a bee, there is no fruit. They didn’t care. They thought they could. Do anything they wanted to. But they did not remember the Sioux.

The Sioux is our tribe and we are earth. We respect and allow new birth. We like learning and the beauty way. And this is what we always say, “You exist, but so do we. Destruction is your way, your key. Our key is the sacred hive. And in it you can not survive. It is not us that dies, it is your way dying now.”

Wren is what we need the most. Our dollars spent hold the gross national product. We choose where we align the flow. The flow is the River Sioux. Our tribe is dancers, really, guys and this should come as no surprise. The earth dances with the wind. The moon rises and so does the sun. We are golden everyone.

So dance your colors with delight. And let go daily of their right to hold us hostage in their way and then we have the final say.

The laws are adapting to our grace. We need only to keep settling into place. Make a commitment to do your work. And dance and sing and listen well. For we are in the faerie spell. The spell is earth coming along. To sing the healing reiki song. That is hers, she makes it ours. And we are finally becoming stars.