Returning Firehawk

I come from rivers and northern winds,

from frozen lands and older times.

from ancient voices near the woods,

from footsteps still alive in me.

I come from people who crossed the sea.

who built, who walked,

who sailed ahead, from the St.

Lawrence to the western plains.

carrying hope through hardship and pain.

We followed rivers into the land,

opened roads with our own hands.

left behind our names,

our towns, our traces,

where the horizon seemed to have no end.

We knew the days of war and loss.

the laws they tried to take from us,

the lands they tried to pull away,

the words they wanted us to forget.

We knew the fear,

we knew the pain,

the broken roads, the closed-off ways,

but we were always those who stayed.

those who fell and rose again.

Brave. Courageous. Stubborn. We still are.

Our language crossed the centuries.

Our memory crossed the borders.

Our culture crossed the storms.

And our presence crossed through time.

From rivers to forests,

from plains to mountains,

from ancient trails to cities now,

how much would be missing

if we had never been here?

We were here. We are still here.

I am Canadian. I am French Canadian.

I am Québécois. I am of America.

I am the heir of a people who built,

who suffered, who resisted,

and carried on

And ahead of us,

there is still

the horizon.