My great-grandmother predicted
of Earth’s changing seasons, there
would be snow in summer and heat
in winter; the changes in the world
are for many reasons.
She told of the spirits that ride upon
the winds of time, who told of living
things that we would someday no
longer see; and as a people… no
human would be free.
In the stillness of the night, I listen,
to the singing of hope; is it too late,
is it gone; then I hear nothing all is
Great-grandmother, a Chickasaw
whose parents walked the Trail of Tears,
believed that one day the people of this
world would live in fear.
I hear her chants; the music of her flute,
my soul believes that in her prophecy
she spoke truth.
I listen for her whispers within my soul;
her voice continues to speak to me her
faith alive; and through troubled moments
we walk side by side, and I hear the in the
echo of time and her voice telling me to
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