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Young native
There are so few of us.
The fever wont stop falling.
Our ways are being forgotten.
Only in movies and books we excess and still we die.
Many hearts still beat.
But it still softens the drum beat.
Even our loudest powwows are quictund by the traffic.
We don't cry for the rubbish nor,
whats underneath.
We cry for the man higher than the eagles
We cant look up without seeing your creations,
are time will pass like fire yours will keep going like water.
Should we beat the drum louder or stop are hearts beating.
IWOA
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