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Song of My People


By beanerywriters(11,675)



It plays among Alpine peaks capped with snow.It rushes down mountainsides to where violets grow

in lush green fields, bathed in sunlight.

Shepherdesses gather there Edelweiss, snow white,

while singing the song of my people.


It flows on the Rhine and passes castles

where many German kings and vassals

hold their pompous courts and masquerades.

It goes on to the farmlands, where rosy-cheeked maids

move their hands to the song of my people.

Martin Luther hammers it as he nails to the door

his theses, telling the Church to do more

to meet the needs of the people in the burgs.

In the small, small town of Wittenburg,

Luther sings the song of my people.

It hums in the simple meeting house

so softly it wouldn’t disturb a mouse.

It whispers as gently as a breeze

of plans to go to England’s colonies

to save the song of my people.

It ebbs and flows in time to the boat’s sway

that carries them across the Atlantic gray.

It reaches the new world’s shores at last.

In Pennsylvania, my people find peace steadfast.

The colonies ring with the song of my people.

It moves in time to the Susquehanna River

and to the plows that till fields by the acre.

It clops in time to the horses’ hooves

riding along steadily with the buggies smooth.

It continues, the song of my people.

The modern world now closes in on me

with its science and technology.

I wonder what my place there will be.

Come what may, I’ll forever be

the keeper of the song of my people.

Song of My People, written by beanerywriters blog visitor Barb, was first published in Into the Foothills, A Publication of the Foothills Writers 2001.




This Blog Post has been read 2 times.
Posted to ProBlogs.com on Monday, January 01, 2007
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