My people walk upon the Earth gently,
respectful of those who walked before
whose atoms mingle in the stardust
sprinkled from shore to shining shore.
My people hold Her sacred,
and cling to a long chanted prayer
that all who walk upon Her face
will find sacred teachings there.
My people feel Her spiraling rhythms
And Ghost Dance to Her holy hum.
We touch Her face ever gently
With unquelched tears of countless sum.
She bows her noble, gray head to acknowledge
The many who have been lost,
and none can count the blessings wasted
of their lives forever and savagely tossed.
But, She no longer sings of murder.
She longs for quiet and peaceful fires.
Her green and blossoming outstretched arms
Strong now, promise hopeful and lovely spirals.
It is upward from her dust that we must look for peace
And open our heart past hate and vengence.
Now is our time to dance and welcome back
The sacred Mother of splendid vestal vestige.
Copyright © Chula Fleming