Post by Ken Corbett on Jun 9, 2012 18:38:43 GMT -5
Before the background industrial hum
and the combustion engine smoke
lay the land where I come from
the home of the Micmac and Maliseet folk.
What was it like before the white man
sowed his seeds upon our meadows
and with the brute sweep of his hand
cast our world into the shadows?
I know the past cannot return
the way it was before the engines.
I fear there's no time left to learn
from those who yet recall the legends.
Still I seek the long-lost places
where the ancient spirits dwell
walk the trails to find their traces
and hear the tales their rivers tell.
No one knows where their world went.
The ancient spirits left no chart.
Yet ere my days on Earth are spent
I'll find their world within my heart.
Ken
An old one I penned before my muse left me.
and the combustion engine smoke
lay the land where I come from
the home of the Micmac and Maliseet folk.
What was it like before the white man
sowed his seeds upon our meadows
and with the brute sweep of his hand
cast our world into the shadows?
I know the past cannot return
the way it was before the engines.
I fear there's no time left to learn
from those who yet recall the legends.
Still I seek the long-lost places
where the ancient spirits dwell
walk the trails to find their traces
and hear the tales their rivers tell.
No one knows where their world went.
The ancient spirits left no chart.
Yet ere my days on Earth are spent
I'll find their world within my heart.
Ken
An old one I penned before my muse left me.
