The People

In the land between two oceans
we are the red men of the west,
before the coming of others
who put us to the test.

We dwelt and hunted in woodlands
the great eastern forests of old,
for ages of plenty and comfort
our leaders were cunning and bold.

Lodges of wood and deer hide
canoes of birch so swift,
with seasons of ripening fruit
and animal herds we'd drift.

Growing tobacco for our pipes
fashioned from river clay,
beside the running waters
our people would fish and play.

The women in beads and doe skins
the children ran naked and free,
from the swamps of the Seminoles
to the frozen camps of the Cree.

We are America's natives
from beyond the count of years,
meeting the needs of our people
brave in the face of our fears.

Divided by tribes and nation
testing ourselves in war,
by surviving triumph and defeat
came the sorrows that we bore.

For never was life without it
tempering our spirits with grief,
keeping us close to creation
and solid in our belief.

We are the people of the west
here between the great waters,
springing from the early world
in the days of our ancient fathers.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved