SITTING BULL: PROPHETIC VISIONARY

Your body thrown into a pit
Tossed with a sack of lye
Shot down by your own people
Beneath the sullen sky

For decades, you resisted
Said no to white men’s ways
Gathered up your people
Counting their last days

You spoke and others listened
A warrior counting coup
Then a spirit legend
Seeking visions that came true

Some said that you could hear
When a meadowlark would speak
Understand his language
A bond that you would seek

And when the order issued
Told your people where to go
Back to the reservation
You stood and told them no.

They were sick of being hungry
And tired of being cold
Let’s leave the reservation
Sitting Bull is bold

You took part in the sun dance
Drew blood with your own knife
Until you had a vision
Of soldiers and their strife

They gathered by a river
A gurgling mountain vein
A stream called Little Big Horn
Arrows soon would rain

You saw it all was coming
For your vision promised true
The bluecoats they were hunting
That you surely knew

Wankan Tanka warned the people
You told the dream story
Soldiers falling into camp
Seeking fame and glory

And in the final battle
Custer’s did set sail
Down the rolling hillsides
The warriors would prevail

Today the scene of carnage
Stands quietly alone
Now a silent witness
Monuments of stone

I know your spirit lingers
Cause I’ve heard you there
When meadowlarks are singing
People ask me where?