They
Told me I was blessed
Wrapped up in brown
These are your colors they chanted
I have nothing
You good people
But an intriguing birthplace
That meets the Holy
Somewhere
On good days I hear angels
In the winds and changing temperaments
All are somehow sad
And celebrated at once
Who knows this place?
High upon mountain
So lowly beneath the riverstone
Earth people are we
And come to ashes just the same
The Holy
The vagrant
Ones who wander
Somewhere in between
And are common and contrary