Living With the Ancestors
There must be more than stars out there
Blinded by the light inside the cave
Small fires burn to keep the people safe
Hunched over men use finger paints
Maps and wild beast are drawn on walls
The hunt begins at morning by the moon
Stones and sticks are fashioned to a point
Weapons of choice carved from imagination
Primal people create devices to stay alive
To save the tribe from hunger pain
Poisons lurk in many of the hidden plants
Women pray to mushroom gods for knowledge
As they gather berries and fungus from the ground
Hairy men grunt and kiss the wife good-by
Going off to hunt might not seem glamorous
In fact it’s primitive. It is survival.
Life is given up to chance
It’s not always pretty but it’s a living
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