When I get my heart hurt by
Forced into the mold of this age's way
Find it helpful to return to Gramma's ground
In my vision touch her wrinkled face brown.
Never will I have her intelligence so fine,
She sat with Lord's, drank their wine.
She left me with all sorts of mysteries told,
Of scenes, secrets, shadows, like gold.
Mourn that somewhere I lost her value,
That I wasn't able to impart this of true,
As my mother saw to it I was a part
Of my grandmother wisdom and heart.
The dumbing down started with my child,
Turning us away from their basics as wild
We cannot go back now that it is done,
Too bad, too sad, our culture no longer won.
There is no memory of the real life
Not the one between man and wife,
Not the binding of Grandmother to child,
Not the subtle nuance of our law's smile.
Material sacrifice is just as whispered,
Practised today not as meant and occurred.
Our ways all mixed in white man's belief
Never mind they have shown him grief.
Oh well, listen not to my sad note,
After all we are all in the same boat,
Always reaching forward for something,
Anything. What? Maybe a brass ring.