With his head held high, and his torso bare,
A single feather in his long black hair.
The Indian Brave sits astride his horse,
A mighty power, a gentle force.

He rides his horse at amazing speed,
The stallion of the herd, the fasted steed.
He rides him ******* across the plains,
Ignoring the sting of the driving rain.

He stops to drink to quench his thirst,
But allows his mount, to drink some first.
With hair and main flowing in the breeze,
He gallops, full stretch, with simple ease.

The mountain lion is his guide,
And tells him when to run and hide.
He sees all nature as a whole,
For mother earth is in his soul.

And with his women, there is a bond,
That is as tender, as is strong.
His head, held high, for all to see,
He is proud to be - just wild and free...