I give a day of thanks
for the ones I cannot equal,
leaves of steel falling
from this tree –
the mighty oak towering,
sprung from the smallest
acorn, fed by the brownest
soil, nutrient rich.
brown, black, rich is the
source of life,
I can never equal them
but I can give
this day of thanks.
Fanny of the hammer –
all morning did she swing,
the joy of freedom rising
echoing
those who came before
from Harriet to
Sojourner – in the deepest
forest they stood, sowing
the seed of righteousness.
The strangeness of the fruit
hanging from a southern tree,
the truth rang out across the land
when Ida shone her light upon it.
Every hand that ever helped
the beggar drained of blood,
those hands caress the living
with the effort to keep on.
In singing for their cause
I know it is surely true,
they protect me and
they shield me,
they fought for me too.
I thank them yes
I thank them –
on this day of thanks
I do.
I can never equal
the leaves of the mighty oak,
despite their life
giving force
my gratitude is slow,
so slow, so slow it
putters away
in sloth, but I know that
the leaves of the oak
that fell and are falling still
are all that will ever
save humanity from itself.
This is the truth I know
of every American dream –
It is stitched together
from end to end
by lavender women
It seems.
Anne's mediocre poetry 