B
eside branch and leaf,
a convergence of streams
meanders beneath,
Their ancestor’s dreams.
And I bathed in song
Listen to her whispered tone
And followed along
where the Indians roamed:
These valley and hills
in search of big game,
A conquest of kills
for a tribe with no name.
Quartz and rock,
chisel and point,
Hunting the flock
for blood to anoint,
the meal of the past
for a family well fed
in the mountains so vast,
before the Cherokee fled.
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