Oh my people hear my words,
As they are carried up on the wings of birds,
As I look into the eyes of a child,
I see our ancestors surviving
some times fierce, but also gentle and mild.
Our ancestors are always around us everywhere,
In the eagle, wolf and grizzly bear,
Like a gentle whispering breeze
they sometimes gently touch our skin,
To show you where they have traveled and been.
In the gentle, crying winds of Wounded Knee,
Or the nonstop flowing of tears
as walking that horrible Trail,
We hear your cries long, loud and frail,
Asking us to remember you so
that we may survive and be free.
As the birds sing happily now,
I often wonder if they sang happily for you,
Did our little bro/sis listen and wondered how?
And ever so diligently watching for a clue.
Some of our ancestors and their belongings are in museums,
For others to come by and see them,
Why do you not show our ancestors respect?
Do you think our ancestors are something of a defect?
Our ancestors are still alive,
Their blood runs freely within our veins,
With their blood we always have and will survive,
And the longer we survive and learn,
The coming future generations gains,
So we must continue,
just as Earth Mother continues to ever slowly turn.
So, we must continue to learn and survive,
So that our future generations will know how to thrive,
As we will be soon running through their veins,
And not as others think,
on a slab of cement for others to view,
Or just a "pile of Indian" remains,
This is not my future, is this for you?