Gone are the Buffalo
Payer to the Great Spirit
The brave warrior stands, overlooking the great land,
Although the tribe is small, there's strength in its band.
Gone are the buffalo, that once roamed far and wide,
The wild creatures perished, by man's hand, they died.
A tear drops slowly, to slide down the once proud face,
This powerful brave there, and yet showing such grace.
The wild horses, bold, from the Spaniards, they did share.
To run across the broad plains, now so few left to spare.
Taken from the red man, now just the same as the land,
The robbing of all the people's souls, by an unjust hand.
Gone with the strong winds, as it sweeps over the fields,
Nothing but the brown dust, this desolation now yields.
When will the goodness in man, its gifts, once revealed,
That which will return to us, what the cruel now so steal?
As the Great Spirit then looks down, in sadness, to see,
His awesome anger comes forth, as now, no one may flee.
The humbled warrior prays aloud, to the Spirit in the sky,
His words are then heard above, as the wild birds all do fly.
Every creature will draw breath, all shall return to this place,
The wronged ones will all regain, that so stolen, in disgrace.
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