DWDrouillard

                                A NATIVE AMERICAN TRILOGY

In the morning she rises and runs to the river and softly she touches a fawn

It is there in woodland she sees the reflection not knowing her lover is gone

And the Indian Summer is at harvest again

The trees are in sorrow, a life is at end.

The white man came across this plain to shoot my Buffalo down

He brought his rifle and he brought his name upon my hunting ground

With the iron horses flying all around with mournful cries

And the war drums pounding in my head as we rode out to die.

Tell my children not to weep for ancient stories past

Of thunderbirds and broken words and ancient shadows cast

With the iron horses flying all around with mournful cries

And the war drums pounding in my head as we rode out to die.

Carry my bones for eternity

Tell your soldiers to set me free

Keep your manifest destiny

Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.

Take my breath upon the wind

My heart where eagles fly

Give my tears to Mother Earth

My soul to Father Sky.

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                                                                        DW Drouillard

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