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.
Copyright © Deborah Herber | Year Posted 2008
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