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Poetry

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Listen to the Wind

Listen to your Spirit

Listen to the Wolf sing at the Moon

Listen to the Eagle in your vision

Listen to the Water

Listen to the Indian tell you

Believe in yourself

Ashely Hern.

 

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For Wanoka

The Last Warrior

High on bleak, stony ridge, Unmoving, he sits astride His ragged coated pony.
Only telltale frozen breaths, Separate them from The still, winter black boles
Of ancient leafless trees.
The pony, blown and lame, Stands with lowered head, Ears flattened to the sound
Of a distant wolf pack.
The man on his back, All weapons lost,
Ignores the trickling blood From savage wounds, Mingling his war paint.
Eyes burning fiercely
He strains to find
The sign he seeks:
Behind, the sound of enemy
Draws ever closer.
At last, faith rewarded,
He sees far below
In the deep valley,
Arriving at the edge
Of the fast flowing river,
The great she bear
With two gamboling cubs:
To fish the racing salmon.
Drawn relentlessly toward
Their age-old spawning ground.
Silently, the wounded brave
Offers his final prayer
To the eternal clan bear;
Totem and guardian
Of his battle slain tribe.
The enemy, exultant,
Are almost upon him,
Yet he looks not behind:
He sees only the Great Spirit,
Surrounding him kindly
In loving, firm embrace.
While the enemy closes in,
He straightens himself;
His voice rings loud and clear,
Echoing across the land
To the distant cloudless sky.
One last defiant war cry
As he spurs on his pony,
And leaps ...
Into the world of his ancestors.

By W.J. Bruce

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Page created by;Cherokee Wolf
May 14. 1999