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Oct 2014
The sun is shining,
As my mother gathers the fruit.
Father tends the horses,
As my brother digs for roots.

It's time to gather the harvest,
The cold wind has turned it's hand.
We no longer follow the buffalo,
We can not roam the land.

Now all the nations,
Have moved and gone.
We search for any food,
But we find there is none.

Face colors have faded from my father,
He no longer paints them on.
Grandfather says we are dieing,
All the native traditions have gone.

Father sits alone,
Reflecting life around the fire.
Mother sits weaving her blanket,
Dreaming of her hopes and desires.

Grandfather prays to spirit,
Please bring a fresh new day.
Grandmother never recovered,
From the sound the thunder sticks made.

Grandmother now lies with the spirits,
We sent her tired soul home.
Grandfather will soon be with her,
Then he will no longer be alone.

My name is, "Night Of Shining Moon"
And i do not understand.
How humans could **** one another,
For the sake of a piece of land.

Mother says! i am the future,
I hold the power of rebirth.
To make our nation strong again,
To roam upon this earth.
Sheila Hackett
Written by
Sheila Hackett  Lancaster
(Lancaster)   
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