The Alder Trees

I can hear the elders whispering in words so sweet and low
 The alder trees are listening to songs been sung before
 My friend and I collecting skeletons of leaves
 Marking tiny piles, and sifting through the weeds
 Wind blows the tiny green, tiny green
 Wind blows the tiny green, helicopter seeds
 Wind blows the tiny green, tiny green
 Wind blows the tiny green, helicopter seeds
 Oh! wandering in days unfolding
 With paths fashioned of mud and snakeskin
 Oh! wandering in days unfolding
 With paths fashioned of mud and snakeskin
 of mud and snakeskin
 I think about the ladies who weren't allowed to sing
 Sewing all their pretty rows of thread instead of seed
 And what about the black braided sisters of Marie?
 We sat upon upon their grinding rock as children used to be
 Beneath the knotted pine, knotted pine
 Beneath the knotted pine at the garden's edge
 Beneath the knotted pine, knotted pine
 Beneath the knotted pine at the garden's edge
 Oh, laughing! Little girls clapping
 And ghosts weaving our hair to baskets
 Oh, laughing! Little girls clapping
 And ghosts weaving our hair to baskets
 our hair to baskets
 I can hear the elders whispering in words so sweet and low
 The alder trees are listening to songs been sung before
 My friend and I collecting skeletons of leaves
 Making tiny piles and sifting through the weeds
 Making tiny piles and sifting through the weeds