He stands tall and silent in his feathers and
his beads and looks across the prairie that
was once home to mighty steeds; across a land
that once was bountiful, now laid waste by
man kind's deeds. He turns his head to listen
as the wind wails soft and low and hears the
sound of distant drums and the ring of
ghostly hoof beats as they race across the
frozen snow.

He turns again to gaze across the tattered
land and shakes his head in sorrow as he
begins to understand. The sun that rises on
the red man also sets upon his yellow
brother. The rain that washes away the brown
man's fears also mixes with the black man's
tears. The silver moon that haunts the
midnight sky finds the white man looking back
and asking why? He turns his head to listen
as the wind wails soft and low and hears the
sound of distant drums and the ring of
ghostly hoof beats as they race across the
frozen snow.

He wonders at the millions who have answered
hatred's call because he knows the same red
blood runs through them all. They love, they
hope, they bleed, they die and all are laid
to rest beneath the same blue sky. He turns
his head to listen as the wind wails soft and
low and hears the sound of distant drums and
the ring of ghostly hoof beats as they race
across the frozen snow.

He bows his head in sorrow as he wonders
about tomorrow. On his cheek we see a tear
as he stands tall and silent in his feathers
and his beads. We turn our heads to listen
as the wind wails soft and low and hear the
sound of ghostly hoof beats as they race
across the frozen snow. It is now his time
to go.