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
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2019
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