Those men build many houses: 
They dig the earth, and they build; 
They cut down the trees, and they build; 
They work always - building. 
From the elevation of the mountainside 
I behold the clouds: 
The clouds build many beautiful houses in the sky: 
They build, and they tear down; 
They build, and they dissolve. . . . 
The cities of white men, 
They are not beautiful like the cloud cities; 
They are not vast, like the cloud cities. . . . 
A wind-swept teepee 
Is all the house I own. . .                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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