My Spirit stepped into a vision at night,
The depths of canyon walls I walked
On the dry river bed and the last moonlight
Where little fish once used to talk
The sacred circle of prayer stones laid
In the teepee I took my own place
Among antient eyes knowing, in steady gaze
And light dancing on every face.
The Chief then spoke ' It is peace we seek '
A single tear followed every word:
'Our treaty we must make on talking leaves,
We have fought too many years.
The great white Father has made it known
We will have much freedom to live…
Called reservations, this will be our home
And he has much land to give.
Our rivers are painted red with our blood
They bring firesticks and disease
They have killed our food, poisoned our mud
We have no choice but to believe '
One by one each his own feather raised
Over the soft fire, slow..
Knowing the 'people' must keep wisdom's ways.
And wait for the white buffalo.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
One by one each his own feather raised Over the soft fire, slow.. Knowing the 'people' must keep wisdom's ways. And wait for the white buffalo. mysterious and a quietly different thinking and writing.. enjoyed reading your poems dear poet. tony
I feel deeply honoured, especially coming from a fellow-author of your class. Thank you, Tony.