Poem By Debra Coppinger Hill
While the Ancestors worshipped
they shot them one and all.
They thought they had stopped the dance
as they watched the Old Ones fall.
But what they did not know
is that we do not die...
Their bullets set us free
and sent our souls to fly.
High above this shadow plain
where the spirit beasts do roam;
We roost upon their sacred backs,
and the Buffalo carry us home.
We dance for our lives
for the secrets of the Earth.
We dance while they kill us
and through death find rebirth.
We dance night and day,
to the drums thundering low.
Singing medicine songs
to honor the Buffalo.
Though we may not rise today
The People will not die;
As long as we keep dancing,
the Ghosts...You...and I.
We dance for the things for which we yearn;
Grass covered plains, the Buffalo’s return.
The fever of freedom forever will burn,
While we’re dancing with the ghosts.
For there is no time frame on prophesy,
This is the Vision Great One gave to me,
The Heart of The People will always be,
Dancing with the Ghosts...