Butterfly Tree Counselling
with Dana Webster
Last week, we grieved the loss of 215 little souls. This week, we grieve the loss of four bright lights from London, Ontario, and send healing rays of love to the young boy whose family was taken from him.
I just don't know what else to say.
Where am I going? I don't quite know. Down to the stream where the king-cups grow -- Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow -- Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.
Where am I going? The clouds sail by, Little ones, baby ones, over the sky. Where am I going? The shadows pass, Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.
If you were a cloud, and sailed up there, You'd sail on water as blue as air, And you'd see me here in the fields and say: "Doesn't the sky look green today?"
Where am I going? The high rooks call: "It's awful fun to be born at all." Where am I going? The ring-doves coo: "We do have beautiful things to do."
If you were a bird, and lived on high, You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by, You'd say to the wind when it took you away: "That's where I wanted to go today!"
Where am I going? I don't quite know. What does it matter where people go? Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow -- Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.
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