Days of the Buffalo
Gone are the days of the buffalo
and Indians hunting with arrow and bow.
Gone is the freedom they once knew before
and Sacred hunting grounds sacred no more.
Out on this grassy windswept plain
that feeds on sun and drinks the rain,
once long ago the buffalo roamed
and the Indian had a place to call home.
Alive with the red man's sweat and tears
this plain was nurtured for many years.
It was the old ways of the red man
to take just what he needed from this rich land.
He hunted and fished, and he planted seed
just to survive, not for sport or greed.
The earth was his father, his mother, his son.
The land and the sky and the red man were one.
Then one day the white man rode onto the prairie
and changed the face of the land of the free.
One by one red men went to their graves
As the land of the free made the Indians slaves.
They were here first and this was their land
but they were robbed of it by the white man.
Red blood and white blood spilled on the plain.
The Indians would not own this land again
We took their land and called it our nation’s.
We forced them out onto poor reservations.
On sad broken wings the eagle has flown
and the endangered buffalo no longer roam.