The Shawnee, Shaawanwaki, Shaawanooki and Shaawanowi lenaweeki,are an Algonquian-speaking people native to North America. Historically they inhabited the areas of Ohio.
Shawnee Wherever You Go
There is a song in Ohio
Its plays in the wind
Winter Spring Summer and Fall
And when I close my eyes
I can hear it again
It’s a sound that I love most of all
The sweet voices I hear
Are like a soft lullabies
Chants that puts you to ease
The birds and the crickets
Like a duet reply
It can put you down on your knees
A walk though the forest
Is good for the soul
Each step there's a wonder to view
And its sounds are a chorus
That puts on a show
Nature can do things to you
This valley was home
To the Ohio tribes
This is where the Shawnee once roamed
How I feel their presence
Is hard to describe
But when it hits it don't leave you alone
The heart of a people
Stays with the land
If you are an Indian you know
Ohio is a place
That binds with a man
And there are Shawnee wherever you go
Deeply touching.
I so often walk hiking trails thinking of what once was- and who once was. I've always wished there was some Indian blood in me. I never knew my uncle Jack- but he always spoke that way.
The forest is alive with memories too.
Beautiful poem.
The drug called "The Shari" has been used for vision quests over many years. But, when all the rivers start drying up, the tribe must send a young hunter named Tomás on a much more important trip through the Amazon.
The drug called "The Shari" has been used for vision quests over many years. But, when all the rivers start drying up, the tribe must send a young hunter named Tomás on a much more important trip through the Amazon.
The drug called "The Shari" has been used for vision quests over many years. But, when all the rivers start drying up, the tribe must send a young hunter named Tomás on a much more important trip through the Amazon.
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Best regards,
David
Be always safe,
Karen
I so often walk hiking trails thinking of what once was- and who once was. I've always wished there was some Indian blood in me. I never knew my uncle Jack- but he always spoke that way.
The forest is alive with memories too.
Beautiful poem.
John