“Dream-dancer”

In the land of the Mi’kmaq people, along the rocky Glooscap Trail

A little girl was born beneath the dreamlike clouds above

Her feet and hands kicked gaily as if in some secret dance,

Her Father chose the name Dreamdancer, with just a single glance

She had the black hair of her people and brown eyes flecked with gold

She cried so very little like no other child they’d known

She spoke so very little her people spoke of her in spirit terms

Dream-dancer walked in the shadow world and preferred to be alone

Now when the white man built his village of logs and stone and brick

They attacked the Mi’kmaq people and used all the white man’s tricks

They gave them disease and poverty for things that glittered and shone bright

Native children died of smallpox and mothers screamed this isn’t right

The white man supplied the firewater that drove the Mi’kmaq braves insane

They became the brunt of jokes and forgot how to track their game

Dream-dancer watched it all till she knew she had to try to take a stand

She hiked the old route of her people to see if the governor would lend a hand

But the Queen’s soldiers met her at the forest edge and lust their orders gave

They raped that fair sweet maiden and laid her in a shallow grave

They thought they’d killed Dream-dancer but in the stillness of the night

She broke free from the muddy grave and the sleeping soldiers died without a fight

She returned to her village a ghostly spectre, three scalps tied to her skirt

Dreamdancer’s eyes blazed fire and her voice roared out her peoples hurt

The people rallied round her they gathered gun and knife and bow

They would attack by dawn’s first light and it would be a battle blow for blow

Dreamdancer crept and counted coup as the night turned to blood and gore

Many more soldiers scalps were added to the three she’d took before

It was almost light no longer night when the first alarm did sound

The muskets blare soon evened the score but the Mi’kmaq stood their ground

Till a musket ball took the heart and soul out of the final Mi’kmaq stand

Dreamdancer's blood gushed fire red blood as she gave a last wave of hand

Her tribe melted back into the woods carrying Dreamdancer's body home

They sent her on her journey to the spirit world where she wouldn’t walk alone

Many moons have come and gone and many more are sure to pass with time

The Mi’kmaq race is rare and fleeting now a culture lost like sweet spilled

But here and the a few remain and when their campfire’s burn again

The folklore of the Mi’kmaq still revere Dreamdancer’s name