"ohente" poems
The song of my people, long forgotten, plays in the sways of grasses at river's bottom.
Our language lost in the wind, whispers to the great trees like a long lost friend. Our footsteps long covered with snow, our bones resting in the Great Mother, lost long ago. The song of my people, long forgotten, plays in the sways of grasses at river's bottom.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC