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American Indian Poetry

Πέμπτη, 9 Μαρτίου 2017

There is an eagle in me
and a spotted bird
hurrying corn to grow.
The eagle flies to the
mountains of my dreams, flies
to the corners of my distant hopes.
But the spotted bird
stands among the cornstalks
telling me to hoe.
My hands are the tools of my soul.
They make the drum, the bow, the
flute, and stretch the skin of the
deer. They work the earth and
care for the sheep and plant the
corn. They greet my homeland
each morning that I awake.
~~~~~~~
*** My brother the star, my mother the earth
my father the sun, my sister the moon,
to my life give beauty, to my
body give strength, to my corn give
goodness, to my house give peace, to
my spirit give truth, to my elders give
wisdom.
~~~~~~~
*** There is an eagle in me
and a spotted bird
hurrying corn to grow.
The eagle flies to the
mountains of my dreams, flies
to the corners of my distant hopes.
But the spotted bird
stands among the cornstalks
telling me to hoe.
My hands are the tools of my soul.
They make the drum, the bow, the
flute, and stretch the skin of the
deer. They work the earth and
care for the sheep and plant the
corn. They greet my homeland
each morning that I awake.

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