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The Drum Beats, Our Hearts Beat


Thump, thump, thump, thump, as that drum of life does beat,

Hear the heart, is a part, held inside of each one we do greet.

The Native People to move their feet, in keeping time, just so,

As that yellow moon moves over mountains, wide rivers flow.

Long ago and from so far away, when the Native people came,

Each person then was a friend, did treat everyone all the same.

Their tee-pee, the lodges held family, warm and safe there inside,

Over the plains and blue mountains, as in a peace did all reside.

Many moons to pass tall peaks, as those days of rest were grand,

The Native men and women joined the earth, every smallest band.

They became as one, their world to know, as the deer and buffalo,

Wild birds to fly, the bright blue sky, of the soil where maze did grow.

Then to break the silence, as winds did blow, big ships, all did see,

Great billowing sails, like huge white birds, moved across that sea.

As those first row-boats came to the sand and landed on their shore.

The strange ones who came from these boats, suits of metal, wore.

At first these strange people seemed to be friendly, much the same,

The Native men were excited, giving the "Pale Faces" a new name.

They traded and swapped, and grew good crops, as all did get along.

It was later on that truth was known, much sickness, then had grown.

Many Native people perished, was to be from this "Pale Man's" disease,

Great forests and the purest waters, then the new ones all tried to seize,

Much of the fine lands and wild buffalo, were to meet this same bad fate.

The new names the Native people all called, "Red Men", learned too late.

New settlers to come across the wide lands, did take all that they saw,

Left not any grain, or wild thing alive, making up their own kinds of law.

Native people were so distressed and many moved much further west,

Precious soil, their sweetest homes, now gone, though once so blessed.

The Long knives came, pony soldiers, rounded up those grown and small,

Sending them on a terrible walk, was called the"The Trail of Tears", by all.

Some made it to Oklahoma land, as so many had perished along the way,

Made them find a new way of life, to suffer, and some are there to this day.

The Native People deserved a better life, so wronged in those days gone by,

The reservations where many are found, shades of the old, to make you cry.

A proud people still stand on the mountain's top, all to sing their native songs,

Remembering times of days gone by, on a land where each so justly belongs.


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