Indian Lore

The wings of an eagle silently soar
over mountains, trees, rivers and more.
Proudly standing in line with the sun,
were the Indian Nation, their battle won.

Land once taken from braves laid to rest,
buried with riches no one could guess.
Not gold nor silver will ever be found.
Only whispers of the past on sacred ground.

It is said in the Fall when the moon is blue.
Listen to the wolves, what they say is true.
Secrets are told with the beat of a drum.
It says the land belongs to all who come.

Ghosts of the Nation standing tall,
keeping watch for ever, over all.