The Western Trail
In the beginning the Great Spirit gave the prairie rare gifts:
The mirage, the warm rains of springtime, the grasses and the flowers;
The buffalo, the village by the river and the children basking in the sun.
Happy were we then, O, my people!
But from the East a white warrior came and with a mighty arrow wounded the prairie;
And the grasses and the flowers withered and the herds and villages melted away —
Melted, O, my people! as the snow melts before the Chinook.
In time the wound healed, but a scar was left — a long, white scar across the prairie's breast.
The mirage, the warm rains of springtime, the grasses and the flowers;
The buffalo, the village by the river and the children basking in the sun.
Happy were we then, O, my people!
But from the East a white warrior came and with a mighty arrow wounded the prairie;
And the grasses and the flowers withered and the herds and villages melted away —
Melted, O, my people! as the snow melts before the Chinook.
In time the wound healed, but a scar was left — a long, white scar across the prairie's breast.
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