Pat Grantt

Before the time of mapped out nations people thrived here on this soil.

They all shared a common bond, a mix of mind or blood or soul.

Degrees and minutes inked in something that these people never knew.

Lines and fences, walls and crossings would not fit their point of view.

All throughout these early ages people split then merged again.

Drawn away in search of something, blown back home by shifting winds.

Today this land is ringed by boundaries drawn upon a current map.

States and Provinces and Countries all line up to hold us back.

If we trace our family bloodlines we might find a common thread.

Quit the pulling and unravelling, we should knit and weave instead.

Design a cloth of different colours - like a rainbow bright and bold.

At its base we'll find a treasure - a new friendship to unfold.

When our statemen sound dire warnings filling us with unknown dread.

Familiar forms turn into strangers and we choose to hate instead.

Broken promises and memories can be mended in our days.

If we speak a kinder language and lead others to that way.

We will be the new explorers searching for a common ground.

Erasing lines and mapping unions of a kind as yet unfound.