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There is a type of grace you see
when panic is about.
The countenance to stop a moving train.
The strength to pull the family roots
from where you set them down,
carry them and plant them safely
back in solid ground.
A voice to break the silence
when its noise becomes too loud.
A hand to hold the lantern
when the lights have all gone out.
It is a grace thats traveled down
the generation line.
From immigrant to immigrant,
Her story is now mine.
and as you find the place that will
eventually be home,
look to the horizon once and know
you're not alone.
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