Heritage

Heritage
The way that I walk,
The way that I talk.
The plants that grow,
To the river that flows.
All sawn by my mother.

She took her beads
And created a pattern.
A swirl of colour,
White, black and all you could imagine.
She took her beads and created a blend
Blue, green, red.

She gave me the beads
As a gift.
Told me to carry it forward,
For it would shift. From I, to the next generation, to the next creation.
For this gift, she called,
My culture. My heritage, galore.