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Rebecca Robinson
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Colours of the Wind
You think you own whatever land you land on;
The earth is just a dead thing you can claim;
But I know every rock and tree and creature has a life, has spirit, has a name.
You think the only people who are people,
are the people who look and think like you,
but if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
you'll learn things you never knew
you never knew.
Have you ever heard the wolf cry
to the blue corn moon,
or ask the grinning bob-cat why he grinned?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain?
Can you paint with all the colours of the wind?
Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest,
come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth;
come roll in the all the riches all around you,
and for once never wonder what they-re worth.
The rain-storm and the river are my brothers;
the heron and the otter are my friends;
and we are all connected to each other
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in a circle, in a hop that never ends.
Have you ever heard the wolf cry
to the blue corn moon,
or ask the grinning bob-cat why he grinned?
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountain?
We need to paint with all the colours of the wind?
How high does the sycamore grow?
If you cut it down then you'll never know.
And you'll never hear the wolf cry
to the blue corn moon,
for whether we are white or copper skinned,
we need to sing with all voices of the mountain
need to paint with all the colours of the wind.
You can own the earth and still
all you'll own is earth until
you can paint with all the colours of the wind
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