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On this peaceful land where we live comfortably 
with the neighboring villagers sharing the sun and moon, 
stars and clouds, winds and waters, rains and snows;
we sow the seeds on the field, wander in the wilderness 
to spot the games to hunt in the changing colors of the flowers
in the time of bloom and fruit and revolving seasons   

One day, from the east, crossing over the great sea,
the white feathered gluttonous bird flew into this peaceful land 
and took our land by force; the bird cruelly pecked us with his avaricious beak, cold-heartedly tore us with his sharp talons, kept pushing and shoving us eastward, and this vicious cycle drove us into tribal wars and at last, Illini 
to extinct. 
  
And this moaning butte throwing its shadow on the water 
atop of encircling cliffs is the Starved Rock, the site where 
the great tragedy took place, all Illini tribesmen lost their lives. 

The water of the Illinois River mixed with the tears of the people
who lost everything in the east via this legion for further west, 
now moans to ease the spirit of Illini wandering around 
the Staved Rock, which is still hungry, in the evening glow
as a soundless requiem.
 
The water flows embracing sorrowful Rock where:
the mother jumped into the water holding her beloved child,
the village elders who collapsed while upholding tribal pride
followed by the war cry of the warriors who grabbed tomahawk and fought but, alas, fell to enemy’s hand, now is telling the story of their last day
it becomes whirlpool in the very middle of the water.

When the streams small and large come together the following paths
meet and form a pool on the top of this lonely butte on the other side of the river, and dashes into the basin of the waterfall;  

some of them fall rapidly into the steep ravine with heartrending cries 
some of them drift like slow moving time in deep sorrow   
some of them descend to the rocks of level stratum one by one
singing a funeral dirge.

The spirit of Illini drifting along the river 
carrying so many sad stories touches the tourists’
heart; stepping on the site of the tragedy
makes tears stand to casual sightseers;
the grief-stricken stories raise the ripples in the river
and leaves a lingering imagery in the eyes and ears of the travelers
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