Woven within the native tapestry A land for every creature. There is unexplored summits beyond the highest horizon
In Valleys green where clear springs flow, buffalo do roam leaving a legacy season to season only the natives know
Off the waters edge the song of a flute still sings The medicine man and his dance calls to the thunderbird believing in rain. Life was simple until the white eye came
Now they have no claims within the land they call home blood drop puddles beneath the feet speak too wounded memories The great warrior had When white eye came and took his land
By Nancy Smith(c) 1999
Graphics by Wolfsong
Art Work By Heather, my beautiful Daughter. Please stop by the Gallery and enjoy her talent. ( Click on the Chief and he will take you there) *S*