Theirs a daisy in my tea cup. Theirs a sun set setting high. Theirs a river running past me. And the deer are striding by. Their are feathers stuck inside the tea ***, and their are a few in my cup.
We remember, or at least most of us do. The lesions we were taught about a people who are now few fewer than the patches of grass in our city parks fewer than the smog less city's that have wilted our daisy hearts
Now we've gone and built our world on top of their prairie plains we gave them land to live on but reservations aren't the same