Though you've forgotten who you were. . .
though you've forgotten who you were
when she told you her songs to sing,
though you've forgotten who you were
who sang her songs to the air,
though you've forgotten who you were
who could make her sing her songs,
though her arms ache for you and you want
to come to her and you sit there
waiting to hear her song,
the wind blows on past you over the ranges
of blue mountains and carries her
into the blue distances where
your eyes can't see.
Oh thinking, feeling people:
Laborers, presidents, blue collar workers,
vice-presidents of governments and businesses,
kids in blue jeans waiting out the summers,
working in gas stations and cafes,
smoking dope under the noses of the police,
or screeching your tires on the roads,
long-haired people living in leantos and old
adobe houses spiritually resettling the land. . .
bring to the children of the years to come
that Indian vision of the Earth's old family
Old vision of the Earth's old family
Old vision of the whiteman we lost long ago
that Homer tells was ours.
1972
____________________________
Drummond Hadley
Vision
A Curriculum of the Soul
1972
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