This red tent
The place where my mothers met
They sang songs of their first blood
And their original motherhood
They sang songs of Goddesses
Who shed fertility on the harvests
Innana, Anath, Gula, and Diana
They sang of Uttu's wild weaver hands
And of Innana's kindness
They told stories of their lives
They past on the secrets of life
To the daughters and nieces
And when they all gathered in the red tent
And told their stories
They passed on lost knowledge
And wisdome beyond our years.
But those days are gone,
The red tent is no more.
No more songs about first blood,
No mroe stories of the first motherhood
No more chants about the Goddesses of old
No more secrets of life, and death
It's all gone now, lost
In the whirlwind of technology
Called time.
