Tags
bliss, cherokee, connection, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, life, love, nature, old maps, passion, reason, sorrow, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, value
fleeting blush
of butterflies –
eyes were never blind
strain the gypsy threads
undone by time
hopeful arms of bounty
yearn into
the way
was waiting greener
on the other side
when all we knew
of suffering
is where the parting fell
resting now
beneath the mossy page
nature keeps
no memory
of who was first to die
given up her pen
as flags were raised
spills her tale
as waters rise
to wash away our past
– flutters
neath a vast
forgiving sky
. . .
tornadoday 
Not sure I understand the thought behind the tome, but really like the poem, Bobbie.
~Always~ Paul
You know Bobbie your poem made me think of a picture I saw two weekends ago, My mother’s, mother red- beautiful skin, her mother’s mother beautiful creamy, brown skin and her mothers mother, my great-grandmother’s butter bean colored beautiful skin, all native american, and beautiful, but what stories their lives could tell right now, What was their dreams and what they must have endured here. And then their children, and great grand children children who all have joined them, their son’s who served the red,white and blue, lying where the grass is perfect suited to their forgiving hearts and beauty…your words made me think of them all, now spiritis smiling and dancing together as we all write beautiful words…what do they think…I guess they say it all with a simple beautiful quiet smile.of happiness. That was the thoughts that danced through my mind! For I often think of their sacrifice, Those native american mothers, because of your wonderful poem!
O, Wendell, surely you see this opportunity to write their stories, to listen to the song that is their sweet (different) spirits…….. I would love that for me (but moreso for you and for them)…….. ~ Love you, Bobbie