On the Wings of An Eagle

When I close my eyes I hear the steady beat of a drum, Strong voices passionately chanting With a native hum. On the wings of an eagle Their ancestors dance, As warriors stand tall With their decorated lance. They come together In the dark of the night, They dance with pride and honor Beneath a harvest moonlight. Their steps are swift As their spirit soars high, While the valley echoes Their native cry. Their eyes are dark With emotions buried deep, For the land they once roamed And bravely fought to keep. Their traditions are taught To each and every child, As stories are chanted Of the buffalo that ran wild. Their gift of life Is a spiritual treasure, With morals and values Only their heritage can measure. They are the native symbol Of yesterdays gone by, With legends and stories Foretelling the last warrior’s cry. On the wings of an eagle Their spirits peacefully fly, Soaring so freely Across the majestic blue sky.