Will Be Peace Poem by Gianni Pintus

The clouds gentle travel away,
while the river run fast in this wonderful day.

Tears are dropping fast from the sky,
Rainbows are gone mad in this eternal light.

The alive forest is making a fine sounds,
The trees are staying put to the ground.

The wind blows over the moon his cold breathe,
The sacred land is empty in this day of mist.

Horses are running wild in this desolate fields,
The hunters are ready hiding behind their shields.

Months, years, century are lost in this land of memories,
The tribe of redskins is recalling the wild reminisce.

Blackfoot's, Navaho and Mohicans are ready to battle,
Cheyenne, Comanche and Cherokee are ready to settle.
T
he white man Calvary is riding above the cold winter lake,
Will be peace at last in this sacred land, which is still awake.