I Am Not A Child, I Think

The Eye Tells What The Tongue Would Hide.

When The Last Deer Disappears Into The Morning Mist, When The Last Elk Vanishes From The Hills, When The Last Buffalo Falls On The Plains, I Will Hunt Mice For I Am A Hunter And I Must Have My Freedom.

We Did Not Know There Were Other People Besides The Indian Until About One Hundred Winters Ago, When Some Men With White Faces Came To Our Country.

We Were Like Deer. They Were Like Grizzly Bear.

When I Think Of Our Condition, My Heart Is Heavy. I See Men Of My Own Race Treated As Outlaws And Driven From Country To Country, Or Shot Down Like Animals.