The Warrior, the Artist, the Healer and the Cop

The Warrior, the Artist, the Healer and the Cop The blood of my ancestors Flows strongly through four One is my child But there are three more. One is the warrior Who leans far right. One is the artist With visionary sight. One is the healer Disease to stop. And one is my daughter, The cop. Each one of these is better Than we who raised them, deserve. They’ve survived the fires Fanned by our lost nerve. They’ve taken our mistakes Transcended them all. And then, more, or less, Forgave us. Somewhere in the line Of those from before Were brilliant, strong humans Who opened the door To these fine children Who grew up un-sutured To make the adults Who will save our sad future. Mediocrity may rage And an ocean of angst But these fine young adults Will rise from the ranks Hold high their individual Strength and resolve And each, in their own way Their life problems solve. We did everything wrong But somehow they are right. With compassion and love Justice and second sight. I fear my tomorrow But when things get rough I thank those before me Who gave them the right stuff. Mari Sloan Copyright November 2010