A tree is tradition, reaching far
into our story, for its leaves
have printed shadows on the earth
where we are dreaming. Do dreams
of ancestral loving come alive in
each years birthing? Are thoughts
surviving wintry winds still passing
into the summer shade?
Will you remember, in the blood?
the bone? the tales earth told?
Will the tree spirits whisper
now, as they did then, the pain
and joy of all we are
and all we were? Do we dance
as they do to the rhythm of
the seasons music?
| Soul Food Cafe |
The Golden Seed Grove belongs to all those Lemurians who have planted