Best Shoshone Poems

I am Whispering Elk,
Shoshone.
 
The land
grows dark with white men
like so many ants.
 
It is time
of green corn moon.
 
Their tribe grows: blue knives,
buffalo men, yellow hairs.
 
They speak many tongues,
break words.
 
Yellow corn moon
fills bellies.
 
They still come.
 
Days grow less
like buffalo.
 
We see...

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