Robe Project — 8

We wandered in the long ride the desert trails the lost.
Wrapped against the cold wind, the spring not yet arrived.
Driven by the guns of men who do not understand our lives.
We were told the raven’s cowl could protect,
 — — the coyote’s skin make us unseen
 — — — — — the buffalo keep us warm, the deer our feet
The hare would feed us if we fed the Thunderbird
Weary, chased, our beliefs, despair
 — — — -we may know what’s true but can fight no more.

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