From the recording "He was a planter; he was kind"

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Recorded up at Wildacres, the day after I wrote it. What will be our legacy?


He was a planter; he was kind

There is a gravestone in the churchyard
He was a planter, he was kind
Served in the army of the southern states
He has been dead a long long time

Now when I look at that inscription
I gotta wonder was that true?
And all those people enslaved by him
Was that the truth they knew?
The stories that we tell ourselves
May need to change from time to time
When other voices have been silenced
And our own eyes closed so long they’re blind
It’s the burden of perspective
It’s time to learn a thing or two
It’s time to stand up and be counted
And be counted on to stand up for what’s true
We can’t return to those days of o’er
Divisive tribes of our own kind
We’re deeper, better, more resilient
If everybody gets a chance to shine
We’re the stewards of this old world
Bearing a story that’s as precious as time
Every one of us a child
Every one of us a part of the design
Someday there’ll be a gravestone marker
Above the earth where I am laid
May loving kindness be extended
Love and kindness that extends beyond the grave