High on a ridge under a hot desert sun, stood a white buffalo, majestic and proud,
as he watched a herd of his brothers being hunted under the early morning cloud.
Being forced towards a dead-end canyon, white men would butcher and kill,
untill every single one would lay on the dusty ground, perfectly still.
Their hides and horns were all the white men sought,
yes, a quota they had to meet,
Carcasses would be left untouched, because no meat would they eat.
White Buffalo ran down to the desert floor, his brothers now to save,
today, non would he leave to suffer an end, of the herd so grave.
On the desert floor he now stood, at the entrance to the canyon of death,
calling the herd in the dawning light with his loud commanding breath.
His brothers were in panic, running towards their certain end,
when the head of the herd, heard his call and then started to bend.
They responded to his voice of protection, and ran to his urgent call,
away from certain destuction at the canyons dead-end wall.
White Buffalo stood not moving an inch as his brothers passed him by,
now he looked up to the heavens, and let out a mighty cry.
From out of the spirit heavens came a stampeding herd
of white buffalos in ghostly form,
as between him and the riders, they stirred up a raging dust storm.
The riders and their horses were thrown into disarray and alarm,
as the dust blinded and turned them, but for the herd, it was all calm.
The storm abated long enough for the riders then to see,
the spirit forms and white buffalo, who had set their brothers free.
Fear now gripped the riders as they came to realize,
these ghostly form had come to them, out of the spirit skies.
So turning their horse the other way, they rode as fast as they could go,
away from the vision before them, that was an army, and aWhite Buffalo.