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Back to my roots in the great smokeys.
Home to a place my grandmother roamed,
The green valley she called home.
To walk with black bear and fly with sister wren,
Oh how I yearn to be back there again.
I smell sweet cedar in my mind,
I taste blackberry from the vine.
To see cooking smoke and hear the drums,
A beautiful place I come from.
Thunder rolling on blue smoke mountain,
Cool water flowing in never ending fountains.
My spirit walks unto these hills,
Watching the eagle, hearing red hawks trills.
To these sweet visions I hold fast,
My sacred echos of the past..