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