There was a time when the wolf ran free,
when the fish swam in clear waters,
when the land was clean,
when the moon was bright,
native love for their land ran free like cooling breeze,
when the forest was full, for no one cleared the land,
times when native American used natures resources in order to survive,
then spread love for nature among all tribal clan,
honored until death their laws for nature,
when the foliage was thick,
the crisp air smelled clean,
when blossoms were appreciated for aromatic scent,
roots and herbs were harvested,
then used as medicine by the medicine man to heal the weak,
strengthen the warriors,
all so long ago when natives used his feet to travel,
the horse was a luxury for his transportation,
the stones his tools,
he made his weapons,
and made the tips for his arrows
to hunt wild predators,
when buffalos were the source of meat,
its hides the source of clothing,
its bones became needles for squalls to sew by,
its bladder the source to carry water,
its skin dried for leather used for moccasins,
tanned and used for covering their shelters,
children played with sticks,
dreamed of becoming a warrior,
while the girls cuddle their dolls dreaming of being mothers,
the girls learned the trade of their mothers,
shaping painting pottery,
to grind the mill,
to care for their spouses,
to warm the body on cold chill nights,
the boys learned how to hunt,
how to snare,
to provide for their eats,
how to fight ward off other tribes in war,
to hunt the buffalos,
to mimic cry of the wolf:
the sounds of birds;
how to stalk and track;
all in fair gain to grow up in native ways,
when marriage was young,
the prize was a dowry to the parents of the bride,
when having a son was honor,
to a young brave power to rule some day,
though they traveled to seasonal grounds,
leaving only embers of their fires,
and the poles of their shelters,
they left only the spirits of their being, far behind;
Death was saddened,
echoed in the wild,
voyage was honored,
what they owned was left behind,
in burial grounds for the sprits to live on,
in the great white hunting grounds of forefathers
the sighs of the bear,
eagle and falcons, cooing of the white dove symbolic to rituals,
warning of what was ahead,
their journey as native American never forgotten,
as they left their heritage behind,
Hanger
3-17-2003
Native Poetry