Lost The ground, it remembers, each step that we take. The footsteps of elders, their souls, still awake. The language went quiet, but the trees spoke for us. Our tribe that once thrived in the Redwood Forest. Stars guide our descendants, teaching them our ways. Traditions held close, but alas, set ablaze. Like a salmon swimming upstream, our tribe fights for survival. Our forest, Our home, Our rivers, So vital. The moonlight reflects, shining above, The settlers chose hate, while we chose love. by Edie Hoenig ’31 63
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