Upon a hillside beneath a cottonwood tree a old Sioux Indian spoke to me. He said life was good upon the plain but that was before the white man came. I had a lodge down by the stream where i would fish,dance and dream. Ride wild ponies and hunt for game but that was before the white man came. Out there he said with sweep of hand are valleys green and desert sand. eagles soar against the suns red flame but that was before the white man came. Bears and wolves did the forest explore until the winter snows came once more. and buffalo did fill the plain but that was before the white man came. I looked at him he looked at me as we sat 'neath that shady tree. And in his eyes i could see the pain remembering when the white man came.
© James Gordon
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