66300
1
An Indian sat on his horse one dark and lonely night;
The stars, like diamonds in the sky, became his only light.
The little pine that stood nearby, its silhouette was cast
against the snowy tundra; the midnight hour had past.
The Indian, quiet in the silent night, surveyed the blackened hill;
The wind blew cold and bitter, yet he remained there still.
A shadow spread across the snow; he lifted his head to listen;
He saw the eyes of the white buffalo beyond the pine trees glisten.
It was the sign he had waited for, and in his heart he knew
The survival of the Indian through the buffalo had come true.
