Creator of Many

The calling of the Cedar Waxwing, the red berry shall he feast upon

The Red Headed Woodpecker knocking at the pine tree, as the snow falls

The tail of the Red Fox whips up into the air as he springs upon a rabbit

Creator of many, the wind is my breath, and I know the trees are alive

Purple are the mountains, with caps of snowy mounds, my horse breathing heavy

My furs upon my back, my brother calls my name, I hear the wolf pack in the distance

My fathers words echo the song of many, the tribes of the Cherokee, and a journey

Never ending, guided by the moon, the falcon and eagle will meet me in the valley

On the other side of the trail, I will hunt my spirits nest, and there I shall rest