When the World Was Young

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In the lifetime before the lifetime before this one,

and again the lifetime before that,

I danced under the blue sky at the sundance,

when I and the world were young.

The beat of the drum sang in my blood

and my feet moved in joy,

and I danced

and I danced

as if it would last forever,

when I and the world were young.

The Old Ones smiled on me

with kind eyes, but with sadness, too,

for their dreams foresaw suffering

for the people.

Over in the meadow, grey wolves flitted

in and out among the Standing People, 

paws prancing high,

and the backs of the buffalo 

carpeted the earth

in the days

when I and the world were young.

And now I live again, 

in an alien skin,

in a world grown cold.

The buffalo are gone and all that moves

is made of metal.

And I am an Old One 

with kind, sad eyes,

watching the young dance 

in a world gone mad,

and the ancient spirits are crying still,

remembering the days of 

dancing under the sun

when they and I 

and the world were young.

I wrote this poem last year at this time after attending a concert at a First Nations school here in town. The young fellow above was one of the children dancing as animals, birds and whales. The dance was titled Everything Is One: what happens to one, happens to all. A concept First Nations people understand very well.

Shared with the day Tuesday Platform  at Real Toads. Happy holidays, fellow toads!