The Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our landYou can join Unsolved Mysteries and post your own mysteries or
How can you buy or sell the sky
The warmth of the land
The idea is strange to us
Yet we do not own the freshness of the air or the sparkle of the water
How can you buy them from us
Every part of this earth is sacred to my people...
...There is no quiet place in the white man's cities
No place to hear the leaves of spring or the rustle of insect wings
But perhaps because I am a savage and do not understand
The clatter only seems to insult the ears
And what is there to life if a man cannot hear
the lovely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments
of the frog around the pond at night
The Whites too shall past
Perhaps sooner than other tribes
Continue to contaminate your bed and you will one night suffocate in your own waste
When the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses all tamed,
the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many man,
and the view to the ripe hills blotted by talking wires
Where is the eagle
Where is the buffalo
And what is it to say goodbye to the swift and the hunt
the end of living and the beginning of survival.
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