Family Roots

My deep roots, Oh, so precious my blood and roots, yesterdays shadows creep and cling; odd, I have the same attributes . . . The past lays icy hands to bring, me my foundation; and my formation, and from the long past and the dust of time; I have been told sweet stories sublime. Father's ancestors came from France, with dreams of life- in a green land; they came by boat to take a chance. Grandpa worked hard as a farmhand, and his father, too; under a sky of blue . . . One day to Paris, France I will journey, to find some names on tombs ferny. Grandma was Ojibwe, First Nation, these are people of many tales; and I hear the drum vibrations, since a child told things and details, I embrace the call; I want it all- all the teachings, the history; the tapestry and beautiful mystery. To my family thanks for all your truths, and mom for guiding me on this path; and for all those twisted routes, since a child I followed the Indian flutes. speaking to my heart; of tales that will not depart- I say thank you to my family for this all; and for my deep roots. __________________________ May 17, 2017(Edit Dec 9, 2019) Poetry/Bio/Family Roots Copyright Protected, ID 19-1206-440-02 All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonyn. Submitted to FTI Special Family Brian Strand Podium Place 1