Of Ancestors

Lost in tomorrow
is the song of yesterbeen,
when I will foretell
of what I forgot to be
when I get another chance.

For I am right now
what I have always known,
but have been taught to believe instead;
and my father's father back unfold
must laugh at what could said.

For hist'ry retold
is as smoke unto the fire,
and ashes are nothing
compared with the warmth once shared
when I was taught to sing.

Look then to the mists,
my daughter, my love, my son;
for the songs we sing and joyful dance
still live in the soul's timeless view,
when all the words are gone.