Sweet Song  [Back]
                                    

 





Outside the fire in the shadow sit baskets made of wicker

The western wind down from the hills makes red and orange flames flicker

A favorite dog lies curled asleep upon a tan deerskin

The meager meals of dinner scraps keep the poor thing thin

The hunting here of late has become the worst that's ever been

All family members gathers food both women and the men

The drought of spring stretched throughout the summer deep into the fall

Grandfather now recites prayers of shaman the spirit of rain to call

Grandmother teaches all the young ones where the good roots live

And how to mix them with each other to make food to give

Young men toil with ax and hoe as they try to dig a well

Prayer of prayer that every swing brings a new sweet water swell 

Away from the center of the village stands a solitary tent

the front flap closed with sweet grass smoke trailing from the vent

Deep within the teepee walls comes a sound that is full of hope

 A young squaw squats half unclothed her teeth clenched on braided rope

Now she rests in a beaded sheen the sweat from all her work 

She reaches down to cut the cord with her stone quartz dirk 

Life goes on each day by day as we live upon this earth 

And the greatest thing we'll ever hear is the Sweet Song of Birth









Copyright Iron Otter--