My Pray Is Scattered By The Four Winds-Harvested By The Eagle Poem by Osceola Waters

I stand on a mountain top,
I offer the sacred pipe in the four directions,
My prayer is absorbed into the four winds,
It’s transported every witch way,
The smoke from the ambers of the sacred sage transcend ever upwards,
The flames ignite in the four sacred colors,
The four seasons flash by,
And the eagle glides in circles high in father sky,

My prayers are speared to a place where our ancestors live,
Where the Great Spirits heart glows,
Where the Great Spirit sees all,
Knows all,
The eagle often visits the master of breath,
He is always welcomed into the realm of spirit land,
On the eagle he makes no demand,
On the eagle is no command,
He comes and goes at his choice,
He alone hears his master’s voice,

My prayers are entwined with the eagle’s flight,
I pray to keep my people free,
The master of flight is the symbol of freedom.
He directs the four winds,
He over sees the four seasons,
He blends the four sacred colors into one,
He monitors the four sacred directions,
He scatters the aroma of the sacred sage to all the nations,
It is inhaled by all the people,
They become contented,
Hostilities not contemplated,
The words of peace are heard,
Our mother earth is not disturbed,
The guns become silent,
All of mankind will repent,

My prays of peace do not fall upon deaf ears,
Words of peace will be heard,
Words of peace will be spoken,
And man kind will be woken,
The sacred pipe expels the smoke of hope,
It creates a canopy that shields our mother earth,
It connects father sky to our earth mother,
All the people hold hands and build a chain,
Enemies will be enemies no more,
The sacred fire will ignite,
All the people will unite,
My pray becomes a vision,
I see the sacred rivers flowing free all the way to the sea,
The sky is perfect blue,
The smell of death does not contaminate,
One nation upon another does not dominate,
There are no tears of sorrow,
Only tears of joy,
There are no soldiers to deploy,
As I now leave the mountain there’s a quite rumble that travels the sky,
He answers my pray,
Acknowledgment is acclaimed every where.
My vision my dream Osceola Birdman Waters.
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