Ghost Winds Blow

The Old Ones speak from tali stones,
of broken promises, hidden tones.
Upon this land, the blue coats came,
they planted stars and stripes and shame;

while desert breezes make banners flair,
elder’s shadows linger every where.
Old Sage of morning holds a worn page;
a treaty sown, plants seeds of rage.

His visions warn of things to come,
not all will hear the buffalo run.
As lathered horse’s saddles creak,
we listen while the riders speak.

The black cloth Sons can’t keep us back,
their beads and prayers a foreign track.
As all is said and battles won,
this walk will sow the white eyes' sun.

A dragonfly brings a child to smile,
in him, elders stories hunt new trials.
His grasp is firm, his heritage told
as night songs haunt and Ghost winds blow.