Native American/A Poem
On a painted horse the Indian rides, across desert plains our hearts collide.
Long black hair on sun kissed skin, an ancient warrior that lives within.
Dark brown eyes filled with tears, a race of people forgotten by the years.
The Cherokee dance gone like a flame, our heritage destroyed, just like our name.
Our familiar language taken away, cast from society, on the reservation we stay.
In our souls we are strong and free, a Native American I am proud to be.