Before white men roamed these round hills
Before horses came and wheels cut the grass
Before the sod-buster and plow,
This land was meant for another people.
In the old land, east of here,
Food was scarce and beliefs oppressed
My kin came here — a fresh start.
I cannot leave — there’s nowhere else.
The red ones miss me like fish miss water
How can they have joy when dignity is gone?
I didn’t choose to be born here
I own this land — I belong now.
Thief, whispers the land. You do not belong.
I will not leave.