I see the mighty Oak in a vision or a dream, I am not sure which it is. I look at a trail filled with many tears, I am sad because I know I do not belong here. The great plains are silent but once they thundered with a million hooves, as the Bison rolled across them like a wave that did not end. I see the tall mountains that could not be climbed, now scarred with the signs of mans greed. I sit high on a hill and listen to the wind, in it I hear ancient songs that now only exist in memories. The great Eagle screeches in the sky, but we are now few and our past is being forgotten. I want to remember the wisdom of those who came before me, but the voices of my ancestors are being silenced each time the old stories are not told. I see that we are fading like the grass from the Prairie. How sad to sit and watch a people and a way of life die.