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They came in numbers like the stars –
countless, wolves in righteous disguise;
all consuming in their hunger –
still remain, unsatisfied.
Crazed with power, never ending,
brought destruction to our land.
Ruled with lightning, spoke like thunder,
soon the village could not stand.
Left, no room for Buffalo.
Gone, the forest proud with trees.
Moccasined feet on trails of tears,
could not bend us to our knees.
Treaties broken. False words spoken.
Crumbling parchment, this we know.
Empty words and deeds encroaching,
gone like footprints in the snow.
Shadows cast by ancient warriors,
silent memories, honored times.
Still the greatness of our people
lives forever – in our minds.
Gone, the warrior’s ways – traditions
sacred trails uncertain now.
Swiftly on the wings of eagles
cries the staggering question “how?”
In their vision, we are gone,
but our lodges still remain –
await the time of all red men –
joined together, once again.
Where are the footprints in the snow
that tend the fires of our returning –
to keep alive the quest unending,
and keep the fires forever burning?
Where are the visions of long ago
that cry on the winds in our Ancestor’s song?
Our drums beat the promise our children can win,
and bring back our footprints now vanished so long.
They wanted us gone, but we are still here,
trails in our hearts too deep not to show,
but only the chosen ones can see them.
We just don’t leave footprints . . . any more.
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