Dusk washes over pristine prairie plains,               
sunlight disperses into silver stars.
An ever-burning flame, the one compass.
The start of a tribe’s celebration.

Tents and teepees litter the vast fertile lands,
their open outstretched arms inviting in,
the souls and spirits of the silent night.
The start of a tribe’s celebration.

Headdresses and helms of hunters are worn.
Many tribal colors displayed on skin,
a colorful creation on canvas.
The start of a tribe’s celebration.

Heavy feet, happy friends, and holy fire,
a calling for strength, wisdom, and guidance.
Dancing powerful, priestly, passionate.
The start of a tribe’s celebration.

Crackling fire dies, the silence now returns,
as sun emerges from night’s frosty grasp.
I gaze into the mannequin’s dead eyes,
and at my great grandfather’s outstretched arms.
The end of a tribe’s celebration.