Shamans Call

The flute of my ancestors
plays inside the wind.
The same wind that bore them
now calls to them.

Fingers rise and fall
As the melody of time itself
flows through the pipe.
Calling the spirits of those
who have passed before us.

Its haunting warbling
calls the tree branches
to sway to me.
the brook to flow nearer
and the swallow to fly low.

For my breath is now
the voice of the wind.
The music plays into
the shamans lair
enticing him to make
us one with
the winds of time.