Mystic Imagination
I feel the pressure of the tiny beads
My new found band pleases me so as I
Walk through the morning mist of the mountain
Where my family finds its morning way.
How did I come on these colorful bits,
I look down the valley’s winding road
And know in my soul I am a Cherokee girl,
Feeling the fringe, the soft leather, the breeze.
I hold my baby sister’s little hand,
And believe, believe it is true, and then
Awaken, my face to the sunshine,
When I feel, it is real, I am home.
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