There is an eagle in me and a spotted bird hurrying corn to grow.
The eagle flies to the mountains of my dreams,
flies to the corners of my distant hopes.
But the spotted bird stands among the cornstalks telling me to hoe.
My hands are the tools of my soul.
They make the drum,
and stretch the skin of the deer.
They work the earth and care for the sheep and plant the corn.
They greet my homeland each morning that I awake.