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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Acoma Pueblo My city of stone My people I cry for you I looked into our land Nothing remains broken hope of years. You did toil the soil, your life was grand. But what could you do, the waters ran away from you? Where did those clouds roll? Not here, you, my people cried It hurt your very soul Brown crops dying so My children where, now this place has died, can I find you? There's no need to hide You now suffer more so Pollution is to blame? The world is not the same, Now moving is the game. Do you ever learn from me? Not much that I can see Till the day you die My people will not survive For comes another This one more hurtful, than the dry winds He will scour your lands Far deeper than the wind Much broader than the shear He will rule over you It will be his laws that will kill The Clovis culture We gave the world a puzzle Yet great we were in American time Our tools were of another level The archaeologists found the sign Buried as we fell there, to famine drought or fire In a new land not seen before Our weapons opened another door They dated us in pre history time The sphinx in Egypt Would have smiled if he knew That I played with bows and arrows As he watched over you But what of those great sailors Saying they'd found new lands Did they not see us standing there With our weapons in our hands They returned talking of our land, Something for their empires plan It would have been better for all, had we welcome them to our shore
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