Storyteller,
Speak to me of moments past,
Woodsmoke and many Novembers,
Of Granny Hall, Jackson, Jones,
Of Mother Grace and Grandmother Ada,
Speak of the Disir of my family,
Old recipes and secrets gathered,
Whispers in the half-light of morning
kitchens,
Speak of the Cunning Men
Tending sawmills and calvings,
Snows deep as a barn roof,
Pitch-black trails over mountains,
Old wars and front porches,
Feed my pen with stories,
~Our
people survived~
Round up the re-members and
Feed our daughters
On mountain strength and hill-wanders....
Saga, the storied one, hear me
Saga, the storied ones call you...
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