The Mother Line.

Sweet are the ghostly shadows,
that linger as the ancestors I call,
their fallen shapes, shadowed faces,
the pride of the ones who came before.

The link of blood, the link of pain,
life can only guarantee such things and no more,
love is what they tried to give,
love in the form of life giving moment.

Here I sit as they surround me,
those who I did call to me through the fold,
those who held strong, and those I still try to hold,
but shadows cease in light, and they are nothing more.

I think about the gifts bestowed,
as century upon century they fought, striking forth,
striving for life without the strife they endured,
passing on their knowledge to keep our souls alive.  

And you lull me still precious song,
the lullaby that stretched from ancient tongue.
Held gently and passed from hand to hand,
pushed forth over sea and land, through time and mind,
back over the centuries in the lives of the ancestors,
back through the mother line.