My Lineage

To the children to whom suffering long
has been given,
Those ones driven
to come along
or die upon
arms of pity
in this city,
for us i’m drawn
to an old song
about felling trees and women pretty.

Of grand spirits unpretty and pretty
we sang that song
of sheaths we’d drawn
in our city.
What a pity.
For thereupon
You came along
Also driven
even given
we were what was left when you were gone long.


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