The pounding of a thousand legs;
Marching at morning dawn
To the great reaches of lands.
On those Great Plains
When dew is still forming
 
Watch the herds, graze by
The culture, flutter by
and the people, gone by.
On those Great Plains
when dew is still forming
 
Oh! Why have all gone?
Why gone with the buffalo,
the people, and the life
Oh! Those Great Plains.
Once full of purpose,
now that purpose is gone.
 
I dream of grazing,
running, and dancing with buffalo
Feeling their fur, Seeing their beauty.
I dream of the buffalo people.
 
My brethren, My home
on those Great Plains.
I see dried grass giving life
to the buffalo;
My people, the buffalo
 
My people, wise and strong like buffalo,
gone like morning dew.
But like the dew, and like the grass,
and like the buffalo, and like the culture,
and like the Plains. . .
 
My people will be back,
when morning dew forms
on those Great Plains


I see them now

They are euphoric
with happiness
The willow o’ wisps
of pasts

I hear them now

They are melodic
with their voice
The willow o’ wisps
of pasts

I feel them now

Their embrace
of warmth
The willow o’ wisps
of pasts

I cry with them now

Their tears entangle
with mine
The willow o’ wisps
of pasts

I smile with them now

Their white flash
brighten life
The willow o’ wisps
of pasts

I vanish with them now

Their ghosts will
guide mine
The willow o’ wisps
of pasts