The Canoe of Our Ancestors Upon the river’s crimson glow, Two spirits drift where soft winds blow. Their braids hold whispers, old and true, Of forest songs and skies of blue. The water lilies bloom with grace, Like elders’ prayers in sacred space. The fire of sunset paints the air, A living bond, a fervent prayer. The canoe they ride is more than wood, It carries blood, it carries good. For every paddle stroke they take, The earth and sky their vows awake. O People strong, O hearts that stay, The roots of Native never sway. For love and land forever meet, Where river’s song and spirit greet. . .🎨Artist and the storyteller: Solis Hue