Last Genius of Paradise

I can hear the beating
of the drum
the last song sung

by the sirens

the crisp leaves
freshly broken
the wind
softly spoken

I can see the air clearing
The Hill side alive with wild fire
the beasts rattle
and hum

I can smell the sweat of ocean fume
rising like tide
I can feel the jungle loom
shadows left
with no place to hide

While time stands guard
and light stands tall
the rain
refuse to fall;

He steps outside and leaves
the calling of the trees