To the Elder Children

Never say that this is not my land
My homeland -
Bitter wrong was done
Yet mine was not the hand
This land should not divide
But make us one.
This land that made my father
And made his,
Made yours, made us, and made our children.
This dear earth
Should join our love,
We know no other world than this.
From birth to death
From death to birth
Our breath
Has known no other air.
In your broad natural world
I beg for room
That we may still be kin though fair
and late born children from the same womb.
Yours in the ancient knowledge -
You are wise -
You hear the true wild voices in the wind.
Can I not be beloved in your eyes
though my fathers sinned?

Dear elder children, old wounds never heal
with hating.
Teach me to help to write your wrongs.
Teach me and love me, for my love is real
Teach me to know your dreams and sing your songs
Teach me the wisdom that is in your blood
Show me the hidden heart you know so well
Tell me the stories in the storm and flood.
Read me the secret message in the fire
And tell the mystic meaning in a simple stone
Teach me to hear the pulse-beat
Of our land
Teach me the wonders you have known
Reach out. Join hand to waiting hand.
Lend me your strength;
My strength I gladly give
Guide me through ancient paths
Teach me your grace
Teach me and love me,
Let our union live
And peace flow outward
from our meeting place.

Norah Boehme