I am White Wolf, of the Arapaho nation,
I am a spear society chief,
allied to the Kiowa people,
who share so many of our beliefs.

I am married to a Kiowa woman,
the daughter of chief Sitting Bear,
our tipi is a twelve pole lodge,
standing proudly by the water, where,

Many horses bare our markings,
the rewards of many, many raids,
war paths I have undertaken,
or horses swapped in peaceful trade.

Many moons and many winters
have come and gone since I was born,
much has changed upon the prairie,
many smaller tribes have gone.

The white man speaks of peace and friendship,
and gives the great white fathers word,
but his promises are often broken
between him speaking and his being heard.

White Wolf has fought against the white man,
many times in many wars,
but however many whites we slaughter
there are always many more.

White Wolf knows the end is coming,
has known this truth for many years,
has watched the buffalo herds depleting,
heard tales about the trail of tears.

has seen first hand the white mans sickness
that brings to our tipis, the face of death,
seen whole towns blossom like the cactus,
until not a mile of land is left.

White Wolf has seen the waters dammed
and our flowing streams and brooks run dry,
heard the cries of thirsty children,
so many wrongs cannot be right.

White Wolf's heart is sad and heavy,
uncertain what to do for best,
take his people to the reservation,
or fight the white man, to the death.

White Wolf tells his wife and children,
to pack their lodging and to go,
find safety at the reservation,
but their hearts are strong, they tell me "No",

Our people want to live in freedom,
to roam the prairies, far and wide,
in the steps of our fore fathers,
for them we fight, for them we die.

Every brave, a courageous warrior,
their death faces painted on their skins
and White Wolf rides towards the bullets,
in a war the red man cannot win.

By S.E.Ralph..

14-7-2016