In peace he left his lodge, and reverently he trod,
the way his mother shown the way from youth he'd known.
To connect with all there was, as his family slept he played.
he played to the great white spirit God, with thanks in the
melody, from memory's shared of successfull hunting days,
he thought of his child at play,and his wife with her sun toned
skin, of beads here, she'd braided for him. He thought of tommorow's
trail the inevitable (moving day) on the rolling prairie hills, and
the coming winter ( still ) of the laughter and horseplay there would
be along the way, sending out the breath that the spirit gave back
in his wafting praise. He remembered the forward scouts out under
the open skies, and the owl of the grasslands cry, he asked that the
way be free of eyes of enemies. Human Son of peace, at peace in
the forests half sleep.
for Constance La France's His story contest, written by Joe Maverick.