Long before,
The vacant promises of the elected.
Long before,
The vacant seats in the House.
Indians on foot greeted every lake, river and ridge.
If it’s off, turn back,
If the land feels wrong, it is.
The land watches.
Deracinated, society fractured and dulled.
Organizational structure,
Dictates outcome,
Mob rule by poll.
Respect the routes of the ancestors.
The land remembers and keeps the score.
The Big Water whispers its intent with each ripple.
Heed naught and suffer as fools.
Bureaucracies replicate,
And rush towards singularity,
Insularity results,
And the land waits.
But as the sun awakes in the East and surely rests in the West,
The absence of nature eats at man,
And the land remembers what the traveler has forgotten,
In the land that watches.
By W.N. Branson 
