My Spirit stepped into a vision at night,
The depths of canyon walls I walked
On the dry river bed and the last moonlight
Where little fish once used to talk
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One by one each his own feather raised
Over the soft fire, slow..
Knowing the 'people' must keep wisdom's ways.
And wait for the white buffalo. mysterious and a quietly different thinking and writing.. enjoyed reading your poems dear poet. tony
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One by one each his own feather raised Over the soft fire, slow.. Knowing the 'people' must keep wisdom's ways. And wait for the white buffalo. mysterious and a quietly different thinking and writing.. enjoyed reading your poems dear poet. tony
I feel deeply honoured, especially coming from a fellow-author of your class. Thank you, Tony.