7th Fire
Wasn't it winter
who sang the elder song?
Those spirit tones
for the young ones?
And we
who watched
with an eye to above
held on to their note
for the longest while.
And as we remembered
the fourth and fifth fires
and the sixth
with anticipation,
knew that the seventh;
the false face
would be cut
from the living,
teaching the young
from the old,
growing the spring
from the cold.
Seeing the season
melt from its freeze
in drips of tears
from the healing fires.
Hearing the lines of a sage
in the face of life's gauge,
a wisdom tongue
and thunder prayers
for the spring ones.
'Why wasn't?' and 'why can't?'
become questions of the past,
as the beauty of winter
feeds the spring,
with decomposing leaves
left from last falls stories,
and melting tears
into a fertile soil,
for the young blades
ripe with old ways.
The future of life
in the Seventh Fire
was prepared from the cold
of the wisdom fires
Burnt into earth
with the mind of the spirit,
becoming a soil,
a result of the sun,
Patterned after the light
a golden feather
becomes the reach
of hope and love
for the harvest to come.
LauraLee K. Harris
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