In the days before time, and knownledge of men,
Creation would wait 'fore creating again.
Then her Father, Existance,
Would give her a seed,
And she'd plant it and nurture it,
Rosebush or weed.

And one day a new seed
Came to her hand
A strange kind
that never could grow on dry land.
So then beaver she called,
And beaver then dammed
The river's wide flow with the skill of his hand.

And with a small trickle, to keep the dust wet,
The seed under cover of dark earth was set.
As time came and went, and the small shoot grew tall,
Bright summer came 'round, without warning or call.

The green life then faltered, and threatened to fail,
When sun's heat ne'er hid behind cloud's stormy veil.
So beaver worked hard at Creation's command
And loosened the dam with the skill of his hand.

But beaver's skill failed, for the river had grown
And had spilled o'er the dam 'fore he'd even begun.
The water, in fury, rushed toward the young tree,
And bent it, and broke it,
And passed to the sea.
Creation looked down, and her heart wept,
And weeping
Her tears hit the tree,
Hit the ground,
Flying,
Leaping.

But when she looked up, to take in the life taken,
Her tears became dry, and her pained soul was shaken.
The tree had been healed by the tears of her grief.
Creation now cried out in silent relief.

Then, the River returned to it's natural way,
And the tree kept on growing,
There's not much else to say.
But I hope all now know that both sunshine and tears
Are what helps us keep going, while a year turns to years.

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