Softly I touched her face, I wipe the tears
away she shed, she cried for our nation that
was gone many centuries ago.
Stories, from years, came back to me
when I was very small, each story
powerful, as her heart is brave, and
true, I let them flow from heart, our
nation that understood how to live and
raise their children with spirituality, mother
kissed them with fertile ground for survival
to continue on with stories that go down
in our history books.
Come walk the fields and streams, I
will tell you how our nation became
a nation, the sorrows, beliefs, faith,
your ancestors had that gave them great
courage, and skills to put a smile on a
face that never frowned, they never had
to be sad, they had their struggles, and had
mother nature by their side, with God's
arms stretched out with love and peace
for his children.
She sat their on a rock near the
stream while I told her the story
of her dear ancestors, while she
listened, she started to shed
more tears, but never in vain.
Each story I told her, another tear
fell, not on the ground of sand, on
the Green Indian burial grounds
growing with flowers, and weeds, and
stories she could pass down from generation
to generation.
We walked for miles and chanted,
and cried for our nation that was
a legend already, all we saw, and
felt, we found out nothing was ever
lost, it was growing all around us,
our nation was blowing in the
softness of each whisper of the
breeze, all we saw was a deep
reminder that our Indian nation
will always be.
