As we weave the fabric of our lives, working hard through all the days
Mixing colors into twine, cedar too for warp that’s mine
Our hands do hurt but I won’t complain; my students here I’m going to train
To be a weaver of the robe, that people know over all the globe
Our work we do for time will stand, side by side from my ancestor’s land
Their hands I see when I close my eyes; heads of grey, hands wrinkled and wise
Their training I feel all through these days, now I pass it on in so many ways
What I teach I hope and pray, they will learn and weave will stay
Long past my last earth day
My Grandchildren’s Grandchildren I hope will say
This robe I weave is from my land, taught to me by someone Grand
Our story goes on and we prevail; I’m here to tell you a weaver’s tale.
Written by Wayne Price in honor of our weaving tour visit in Haines, Alaska three weeks prior and in memory of our weaving mentor, the late Jennie Thlunaut – written 18 August 2013