Spirit of An Eagle
I fly high,
roam on vast oceans,
following my waves of devotion,
with the sounds of the Native American people,
playing with my chords,
singing in my soul.
The spirit of the eagle
turns into a blue rose,
and I rest
where
the waterfall
lies its bed;
Drift slowly where
the beginning has no end.
Away from faces without a soul
Away from hearts that turned cold
Near whatever makes me whole.
1st PLACE
Sponsor: Brian Strand
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