Stood by the wrought iron gates,
in the noon day sun,
the air crisp, clean and cool.
Stood for awhile, quiet,
wrapped in thought.

Then suddenly,something moved.

My eyes drawn towards the great cedar,
caught up in its branches,
downward, hanging,
prayer ties, softly dangling,
holy on their ends.
Intranced by an eagle feather,
attached and swaying with the wind.

Something moved, strangely from within.

The sacred tree,
bye itself, yet not alone.
Three more were there,
Nancy Ward, Long Fellow and Five Killer,
red roots wrapping their bones.
All at rest,where what was,
and always will be home.

And yet, something moved.

Could it be the blood?
The oldest pushing the other aside,
rising above.
That red brown, copper blood,
filling the heart,
with reverance and pride.

Yes, it is the blood!