We would ask you
of the earth
that color of wet bark,
your planting of dreams
under the sweating sun,
your harvest of memories
in the tears of the moon.
We left you fire
from our lodges,
the fire of yearning;
see
it glows even now
in the yellow corn,
dances upon the waters
of the Nishnabotna,
and sparkles in young eyes
as if our arrows knew your flint.
We are the "Makers of Fire"---
come close, stay warm.
We are brothers in the Wind,
Children in the corn.
In this sea of earth
let us walk in a scared manner
upon the Red Road of peace
carved in the palm of the Great Spirit,
Father of us all
making fire!
