O'siyo ~

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Where have All The People Gone?

Where is Our home?

A few more passing suns will see us here no more,

and our dust and bones will mingle with these same prairies.

I see as in a vision the dying spark of our council fires,

the ashes cold and white.

I see no longer the curling smoke rising from our lodge poles.

I hear no longer the songs of the women as they prepare the meal.

The antelope have gone; the buffalo wallows are empty.

Only the wail of the coyote is heard.

The white man's medicine is stronger than ours;

His iron horse rushes over the buffalo trail.

He talks to us through his 'whispering spirit' (the telephone).

We are like birds with a broken wing.

My heart is cold within me.

My eyes are growing dim.

Chief Plenty-Coups, Crow