Woodland child you have lost the moon
to walk a path dark with fallen trees
sorrow of your sacred homeland camps besieged
the old ways buried deep, the red earth swallowed
all the precious souls, have flown far into the endless night of eagle
feathers swirl, scattered at this ancient altar.
In the ashen air
always your heart remains, your wisdom blood breathes
like the sun of fire, your dance of vivid painted colors
surreal dream of Tishomingo, trading beaded leathers
through the ages, children rooted in trees and fields
medicine men smoked in visions of waterfall suns
all of our days, deep this bloodline runs.