Good Words Will Not Give Me Back

We Gathered All The Stock We Could Find, And Made An Attempt To Move. We Left Many Of Our Horses And Cattle In Wallowa. We Lost Several Hundred In Crossing The River.

We Live, We Die, And Like The Grass And Trees, Renew Ourselves From The Soft Earth Of The Grave. Stones Crumble And Decay, Faiths Grow Old And They Are Forgotten, But New Beliefs Are Born. The Faith Of The Villages Is Dust Now... But It Will Grow Again... Like The Trees.

Suppose A White Man Should Come To Me And Say, "joseph, I Like Your Horses. I Want To Buy Them." I Say To Him, "no, My Horses Suit Me; I Will Not Sell Them." Then He Goes To My Neighbor And Says To Him, "joseph Has Some Good Horses. I Want To Buy Them, But He Refuses To Sell." My Neighbor Answers, "pay Me The Money And I Will Sell You Joseph's Horses." The White Man Returns To Me And Says, "joseph, I Have Bought Your Horses And You Must Let Me Have Them." If We Sold Our Lands To The Government, This Is The Way They Bought Them.

Let Me Be A Free Man, Free To Travel, Free To Stop, Free To Work, Free To Trade Where I Choose, Free To Choose My Own Teachers, Free To Follow The Religion Of My Fathers, Free To Talk, Think And Act For Myself — And I Will Obey Every Law Or Submit To The Penalty.

It Makes My Heart Sick When I Remember All The Good Words And The Broken Promises.