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POETRY That bound them along the path of broken promises Leading to the pit of death. A black dot in books 400 years of agony and darkness Limping between forest and mountain Where lonely flowers live drooping The silence grows across hunting grounds Mourns the spirit of brave warriors And the pounding of bisons' hooves The silence in the tall grass Mourns the laughter and gentle songs From braided maidens with their lovers The silence of the night mourns The impish moon That caught them gliding in canoe Over bottomless rivers Chanting their hearts peace At the bold stars. The tribal sages Who dry with age Would sit in council Around cedar fires Taking stock Of their fenced existence On Western arid earth Gift of the White Father Who lavished fire water upon them Keeping them in stupor To steal their grazing and mineral lands Their lakes and rivers Taking stock Of their poverty and disease Clamped upon their hopeless people Who were shorn of their culture, language and life By the great White Father whose word was evil Whose guns hunted them like animals Until few were left to face the sun The wigwams that spotted the earth No longer could be seen 243