There was a time
when the white buffalo
looked out from its
mountain top
and saw the valleys
teeming with life.

The herds
grazed in the vast
young ones were born
frolicking, playful
and unafraid…

Their mighty hooves
the ground—shaking
could be heard & felt for miles.
A dust storm
settled once the
community found
a place to be.

But now the
white buffalo
looks out—
a silent tear
runs from
the corner of its eye…

A silent ‘grunt’
echoes across the land
‘Come back’
‘Come back’
‘Come back.’

Do we hear?
we’re responsible for
their demise.

Can we bring them back
before we, too,
are no longer?

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