My ancestors
As we motored up the winding path
Our father told us tales of his ancestors
Who had climbed all their way to the peaks
Their spirits soared in the snowy heights,
But their shadows loomed in our thoughts.
His tales belonged to the hills and...
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My ancestors
As we motored up the winding path
Our father told us tales of his ancestors
Who had climbed all their way to the peaks
Their spirits soared in the snowy heights,
But their shadows loomed in our thoughts.
His tales belonged to the hills and men
And it seemed that he had plucked them
From the hills and laid them before us.
Now, as my stories go, my father has joined
The ancestors as the last one in the line;
My voice echoes in the silence of the hills.
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