The Fruit of Man

Who is man
but a whistle in a barren land?
And what is time
but a forgotten whisper?
Yet what becomes of him
is a legacy.

When the wind carries a man's tune,
what song will another hear?
Shall the music of the heart
be on display for all to see?
Not just to be heard,
but to really be seen.

The music is in the
healing of the hands,
the feet that walk beside a stranger,
the jingle of spare change.
And the beat changes
every time the wind blows.

So much means so little
in one man's life.
Yet, the little means much.
The seed of one life
becomes the harvest of a people.

For every season is the turning of an age.
Through death, there is life
and sometimes even redemption.
For every man that dies,
a new creation becomes.