Songa-Tree

6 Replies

I write the dreams of my elders.

I write the songs of sweepers.

I write the melody of gatekeepers

I write the mothering spirit of branches,

hueing maple sapp with bark and sugar.

I write of the distance traveled long before earth.

I write of wings sown in prayer and navigating me.

I write of the mountains dancing in my belly.

I write rythms of oceans.

Afterall Poetry is treasured earth.

 

 

 

6 thoughts on “Songa-Tree”

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