christians and indians

Across wide plains where tall grass sways,
Two worlds once met in fragile days.
One carried books of faith and creed,
One held the earth, the sky, the seed.

They spoke in tongues both strange and new,
Of spirit paths and sacred view.
One named a cross beneath the sun,
One saw all life as joined in one.

Yet in that meeting, sharp and deep,
Were promises not meant to keep.
For trust was sown, but power grew,
And broke the balance both once knew.

Still echoes rise in wind and flame,
Of loss, of hope, of shared same name—
For both had searched, in their own way,
For truth beyond the mortal day.

Now voices call across the years,
Through memory, healing, grief, and tears—
Not to erase what came before,
But learn, and listen, and restore.