Classic Poem

I can't guarantee my name for posterity.
I can't guarantee snow or diamonds.
It's hard to kill the swallows
harmonizing their flight with the afternoon's.
Impossible to call eternal a flower
the poet can't sing into his songs.
Everywhere there are birds!
It would be absolutely criminal
to drain our lagoon
to fill it with hotels and bars.

We are transforming our mountains.
We are altering what was known
as the unalterable routine.
For though daily we can see
the trembling crystals of the river,
never do we dream the time will come
when every slighted thing
will rise up angry and indomitable,
when water, the moon, and roots
proclaim their empire of light and moisture.
It will be
when the primary harmony
surges to raise our grief to the summit,
to the realm of the musical armies.