Deep within the wooded land come echoes from the past,
Faces tanned as leather, night falling, restful end of day at last
By firelight sits the red man, birds roasting atop the flame,
Hard won food caught by traps and snares called by their Indian name.

Fish drying, hanging from trees above where the wolves can reach.
Smoke staining the roof of rock where young ones learn and old ones teach.
Feathers, clay and berry stain adorn the glistening muscled skin,
Shadows covering the moon, not letting it’s light creep within.

Sounds of scraping arrow wood to make them fly straight and true,
When comes the light of tomorrow ‘neath skies of greyish blue.
Hard but good the life of the red man as he works throughout the day,
Giving thanks to his Great white Father in his own special way.

Ponies grazing with contentment, a woman giving birth,
Another child to grow and learn to respect the life giving earth.
Buckskin cloths to cover man’s nakedness his pride beyond compare,
Tonight I’m walking with the shadows, wishing I’d been there.

©Norma Marek ~ 2nd March 2003

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