A cold river flows from the mountains

When the ice melts on the high peaks.

A cool wind blows hard against

An  Indian boy’s cheeks.

 

He is braving the forces of nature,

To come where the Great Spirit dwells.

In the heart of the forest primeval,,

I hear him say, ” All is well.”

 

He believes that before he prays,

The Great Spirit will make it so.

He kneels as he asks for forgiveness,

And healing as he stands to go.

 

I hear him speak in the wind:

“It is done. It is done.”

I wish I had faith like his:

That God’s will has begun.

-Yu/stan/kema-