Ptesáŋwiŋ, Or The White Buffalo Calf Woman Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

Hunger gnawed, the land was bare,
Two young men searched for food with care.
Eyes scanned far, a sight so strange,
A lady white, beyond their range.

She seemed to float, a gentle grace,
On this harsh and hungry place.
One scout, with thoughts of selfish need,
Stepped forth to sow a wicked seed.

But darkness fell, a chilling shroud,
He turned to bone, no longer proud.
A warning stark, for all to see,
Despise the holy, cease to be.

The other bowed, his spirit hushed,
He knew this was no mortal, brushed
By common dust. He knelt so low,
And she then told him where
to go.

'Go tell your chiefs, ' her voice so clear,
'Prepare yourselves, for I am near.'
She came to camp, a wondrous sight,
And brought a gift, pure and bright.

The Chanunpa, the sacred pipe,
A gift for all, beyond all hype.
The red stone bowl, like blood so deep,
The earth's own heart, secrets to keep.

The wooden stem, of life's green art,
The growing things, a vital part.
A buffalo calf, carved on the side,
For creatures four, with gentle stride.

When smoke ascends, a prayer takes flight,
To Great Mystery, shining bright.
Connecting souls, to all that's made,
A sacred bond, that will not fade.

Then seven rites, she did impart,
To mend the spirit, heal the heart.
The sweat lodge warm, the vision sought,
The sun dance strong, lessons she taught.

As she departed, soft and slow,
She rolled four times, upon the snow.
A black calf rose, then yellow, red,
A white one last, before she fled.

Into the sky, she then did blend,
A holy spirit, without end.