My Blood of Blue

Beating with the drums of love, of native chant, of haunting past

The tales of Indian spirits, the song of the coyote, the cry of the wolf

My blood has been shed, it has laid to rest my people, my great grandfathers

Bones to ash, blue is my blood, turned to ice, it is the coldest of the highest mountain

In winters breath, I see your name, it is written in the sky, these prints of ages

Past and present, the snow bunny runs away, the mountain cat, has spotted him

My love of nature, the call of the wild, the red headed woodpecker, is greeting me

The fox, his tail, I can barely see, as he is so sleek and quick upon his feet

I shoot my arrow fast and hard, the wild turkey will be our meal, and when I see

The smoke rise high from the tee-pee, I shall climb down from my stallion, and find

My place next to you, as you will be stirring a pot of rabbit stew, and making bread

From the wheat grains, our hearts may be blue from frozen hearts, but our spirit

Will not be of ice, it will heat up with the turkey roast, as we make it through another sky

Of winters path, the blood will soon be red, and our love will fire up inside, as we hold onto our naked skin

With hungry thoughts of tomorrow, and the winter storm shall pass, as the calling of the black crow, will shed his feathers for a new nest

My blood of blue, my bounty of plenty, native hearts of red