Manataka American Indian Council


Proudly Presents







The Times On Mother Earth

By Shadow Cloud & Helen Red Wing Vinson


There was no time, that was something hid from the moment.
Just the spiraling motion downward, downward, as if drifting on time itself.
First one, then another joined in, a parade descending to earth .
A season, which spoke with an artist palette.
But as I looked up the mountains, I begin to see.
All the trees in full colors, gleaming in the sun
The more I looked, the colors so bright to me.
A single tear, then another.
My mind new, what my heart felt.
In the distance, the rumble, the crashing sound,
with outstretched limbs, another fell,no more, will it shed the palette.
Or give to the world its breath, the once lined ridges bare.
Stood silent in the night
But on the ridges I did see
Old ones of the past.
Blankets of color around them there.
Chants echoing, down the treeless valleys,
The sounds of babbling brooks, forgotten.
The streams, long filled in.
Once the valleys and ridges, were filled with laughter.
But now, just empty stares,
and lifeless ground.
But one day in a time, not so far away.
The rivers will run again.
The flowers and trees with all the color,
And voices will awaken, Mother Earth,
Will be new again.
Copyright 2009  Shadow Cloud & Red Wing