In solitary splendor, in silent repose, she so demurely lies
Upon beds of soft, wild Rushes under starry, starry, skies
A princess young, so lovely, her beauty defined the word
Sad, so sad, was the short life- song of sweet Yellow Bird
Of the Buffalo People, her father, a Chief's feathers wore
In the grandeur of the Tetons, could not have loved her more
But alas this bright, native flower was cut against her will
If not for the rampage of the Tonka's she'd be soaring still
Oh, little Yellow Bird, could the Great Spirit create only one
Could nothing ever salve the father's grief, her life cruelly done
Yet again she will flutter over these mountains that her vigil keeps
When she is lifted from the grasses where she in dreaming sleeps
--
I shall dance the music that life
plays for me, of sunshine and
shadows waiting to be free.
Greeting the splendor when the
storm is past,
embracing the rapture as I
breathe my last.
