Threads of Ancestors

The loom stands tall and sturdy,

the wool is dyed in hues The design is from my grandmother,

a pattern she would use The red and black and turquoise,

the lightning and the rain I weave them with my heart and

soul, through joy and through the pain.

I'm the Navajo weaver's last rug,

I weave the final thread

The spirits of my ancestors are with me,

they've led I'll give this rug to the museum,

for all the world to see The art of my people,

the beauty of our destiny.

My mother wove beside me,

she taught me every line

The stories of the mountain,

the design that is divine

The sheep gave us the wool,

the plants gave us the dyes And I have woven all my

life, under the desert skies.

The final thread goes through the warp,

I tie it with a prayer The rug is finished,

beautiful, beyond all compare I see my grandmother's smile,

in each and every line And I know the weaving will live

on, in a way that is divine.

I'm the Navajo weaver's last rug,

I weave the final thread The spirits of my ancestors are with

me, they've led

I'll give this rug to the museum,

for all the world to see

The art of my people,

the beauty of our destiny.

Beauty of our destiny. (ahhhh)