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Poetry: History


The Old Hunting Chief

When I was young,
then my heart was young,
then my feet were young.
Often I ran in pursuit of the buffalo,
often I leapt like the rainbow across the sky.
such was my strength when I was young.

When I was young,
so also my arms were young,
so also my eyes were young.
Often my bow aimed high for the eagle,
often I saw flights of geese in the sky.
My bonnet was thickly feathered,
like the plains, rich with buffalo.

Now, my heart is old.
My feet do not run after buffalo,
my arms have no strength to shoot buffalo,
my eyes see no buffalo,
and the eagle is gone from the sky.

Now, my strength grows small from weeping,
my eyes grow tired from weeping.
Even the sky is weeping.
Even the sky at the end of the earth,
even the sky is weeping.
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