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,
the bow,
the flute,
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.
Author unknown
No comments:
Post a Comment