In times of old when we were free, and travelled with a subtle breeze.
This land of birth had no disease, and all we felt was life at ease.
Bison roamed a million fold, and in our way, that was our gold.
He served us well, both young and old, his all of wealth, from stories told.
Our wine of choice was of a spring, we shared our life with everything.
Oh Mother Earth and Father Sky, please save us from this white man’s Lie.
His ways of hate and words of quick have left our people sad and sick.
He’s killed the beasts that ruled the plains, and gave us booze that rot our brains.
Those words of quick have hurt our sight, and pushed us to this time of plight.
Our children walk in endless night, fore they have lost the path of light.
Make well of us and land gone strange, and bring back life to the barren range.
Return the water that we may drink, and clear our minds so we may think.
Return the spark of life’s sweet fire, and give new hope for those we sire.
Make good this land that has gone strange, and foster forth this Time of Change.
Tags: Buffalohair: Idle No More – A Poem – Fostered Hope