Windswept hill, so few trees
fewer people still,
Brush low on the slopes
Exposed to the Wild you stand.
You don´t carry axe or shield
yet you fight a battle
of papers against
the lineage left to you.
The inner eye it sees,
blood on hardy brush,
spilled to own this rock amongst rocks
and to defend from some.
You ask why and who
and fear to want like them
the power they gained
over lives, so long ago.
You return the rock
to those whose ancestors
sweat turned the stone
and walk away free.
@EvB
Elizabeth Van Brooks 