Blue Buffalo~by Norman Wilson

 

 

Blue Buffalo

 

He stirs the blades of grass
And ripples the waters in his path
Then walks alone upon the plains
Where he grazed once in peace on the range

His spirit now charges before the trains
Splitting rails of steel along his way
Snorting flames of fire in disdain
For the misery brought in yesterdays

The ghost of the Blue Buffalo is a myth of will
That stands embossed upon the rolling hills
Beyond the reach of men that kill
In protest of blood stains that has been spilled

He charges amid a mist on the frontiers
For all the slaughter that came without tears
As their Indian friends, face extinction with them
From the evil of less than ordinary men

There are ties that bind and bond man too beast
Like the blue whale to the rolling seas
Where dying leaves an earth empty and crying
For what, seems like only the Blue Buffalo can see

All rights reserved 11/18/15
Norman Francis