“The happiness of a tree
that clings to its roots”
wrote Nietzsche in 1873
A hundred years before I was born
When the roots I would cling to
were being formed.
Let us not cling to the past
that our foremothers wrought
with iron and wood
as they cut down the trees
to build cabins that became a neighborhood.
Let us not cling, but spread wings
And fly beyond the limits of grounding
That give us foundation
And roots us to a past
Of a gory and bloody nation.
Let us not cling to the world we were given
But build on our own virtue
And life we are living
To hope for better than our inheritance
And draw a new path for our children.