Sacred ground

Cathedral-like, the tall pines stand

Like sentinels, guarding those within the circle.

The smell of pine and cedar fills the air

As the breeze blows through the trees.

The dirt road goes around the perimeter

Allowing all to enter and make camp.


A circle within a circle,

The powwow ground becomes sacred

As sage and cedar smoke fills the air.

If you listen with your heart,

You can hear the drums and singing

From powwows past.


This is the land of my ancestors.

We dance in natures arena.

The smoke from many fires fill the air.

The drums are the heartbeat of the earth.

Our songs and dances come from her.

We are one with this land.