America's First Sovereign
Band on forehead, band on hips,
feet in moccasins without socks,
feathers in a mane of the red horse
with large white stains.
No shirt, loose feathers,
hair of rider black and long,
loose on shoulders, tickling skin.
He is watching from above,
there the space brings quietness.
His eyes are gazing down the plains,
there caravans of settlers are riding
with it comes unrest.
Bursting with fire sticks they have,
ah these people are the snakes.
Long as legs knives they have
and terrible there are people.
For them money is religion,
their spirit has no trust.
Felicity of life, idyllic time,
what all of this means today.
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