Of the old ways
Of the old ways….
How I would loved
to have been an Indian
before the white man
came upon the prairie;
living by my instincts,
in tune, in touch,
with the spirits
that surround us.
I know to do what is
expected of me,
to stand up
for the tribe, to
keep alive the ways
of the old ones,
the wise ones;
to hunt, to kill
the buffalo,
stampede them
then pick one
and have done with it,
to bring meat back
for all to eat,
the skins warm
us in winter.
To be a warrior,
one the little ones
look up to,
when called upon
I apply war paint.
Envisioning those
that fought before me
brings me courage,
knowing honor follows,
in death or life
I fight for the right
to walk tall
between the teepees,
to have my woman
know me as a warrior.
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