Indian Heritage
by Helen George

Out on the plains my horse and I roam,
Where the teepee once was considered a home,
Where the great herds of buffalo were given chase,
Where the Cheyenne were once a mighty race.

We stop for a moment while I reminisce,
About tales that were told of vistas such as this,
About a lifetime before the white man came,
About honor and pride, a life without shame.

But the white man did come to our land,
Bringing havoc, letting things get out of hand,
Bringing greed, taking over, running us out,
Bringing damnation as they forged their route.

I bring out my flute and begin to play,
A sad, mournful tune that suits this sad day,
A melancholy salute to the spirits that bide,
A fitting tribute to a great nation's pride.