I dreams so much about the expedition
I wakes up tasting the air for ochian salt
an take on a load a sadness when I open
my eyes an find that I am not a buffalo.
Even awake my mind carry me back
to the Nez Perce an the peaceful life there.
I miss the time spent playing games
while waiting for the mountain snow to melt.
It lift our spirits to try to outshoot their warriors,
pitch the rings at the stick, an run races on foot
though they was the masters a anything on horseback.
I pray the peaceful times I left is theirs forever
an that freedom is all my lil’ York an his mamma
ever know, but I fear it is a empty prayer.