They Speak In The Wind

by Regina

A rush of birch leaves carried to their place
of autumnal permanence,
she sits among burnished boulders,
her long crow-black hair gently lifted
in the wind's free will,
as she can sense, always -
her people speak in the wind,
from where there were unspoiled forests,
plains, and mountains with their footprints,
where the nights' skies were bursting
with stars,
they had a oneness of their tribal hearts,
their peace with the eagles, bears, wolves,
their braves' horses painted,
then came an unnatural thunderous fire
that scorched their lands,
they were cruelly driven out -
but their culture will never perish.

They speak in the wind,
in their spiritual drum beats,
their songs,
from ancestors' blood
in their veins, ancient,
yet youthful,
their music in flowing
pristine breezes,
melodic in cold streams,
resting in the stillness
on a calm turquoise lake.