THE GREAT MOLD

Written by: George Zamalea

Where the eyes lost their sparkles
Through the prairies-shadow lie,
What is South Dakota 
	A collective of arrowheads,
Deers, or buffaloes' dried skin?

	Is the great Sioux chief sleeping?.... 
	Or watching us
With his racy soul?...
	Or is he in the peaks
Tripping through the sky as a pine?...
	Or in the front of the dangerous trail?

Or his pipe is still filled of ashes,
where the smoke gleaming cold like bubbles?
	Or with the elegance of a horsemaster
Letting the wind to take all legendary away?

	Not the uncertain is certain,
Long stream and grass-laden,
Nor the mourn shall cry with us -- 
	against the Sitting rock
Of a legend -- 
	the unseen Holy man 
	Watching the blooms 
Of Paha-Sapa!


Where the eyes lost their sparkles
Through the prairies-shadow lie,
What is South Dakota 
	A collective of arrowheads,
Deers, or buffaloes' dried skin?

	Is the great Sioux chief sleeping?.... 
	Or watching us
With his racy soul?...
	Or is he in the peaks
Tripping through the sky as a pine?...
	Or in the front of the dangerous trail?

Or his pipe is still filled of ashes,
where the smoke gleaming cold like bubbles?
	Or with the elegance of a horsemaster
Letting the wind to take all legendary away?

	Not the uncertain is certain,
Long stream and grass-laden,
Nor the mourn shall cry with us -- 
	against the Sitting rock
Of a legend -- 
	the unseen Holy man 
	Watching the blooms 
Of Paha-Sapa!