The Talking Leaves

The Talking Leaves
Sequoia's winters were sixteen; Silent tongue spirit clean.
He walked at his father's side across the smoking battle ground,
Where red and white men lay all around.
So many men here had died.
The wind had scattered around snow white leaves upon the ground.
Not leaves like leaves from trees.
Sequoia said:?What can this be? What's the strange thing here I see?
From where come leaves like these??
Sequoia turned to his father's eyes, and he said. ?Father, you're wise.
From where come such snow white leaves with such strange marks upon the squares?
Not even the wise owl could put them there so strange, these snow white leaves.?
His father, shielding his concern, resenting the knowledge Sequoia yearned,
Crumbled the snow white leaves,
He said: ?When I explain, then it's done. These are talking leaves, my son.
The white man?s talking leaves.
The white man takes a berry of black and red, and an eagle's feather from the eaglet's bed.
And he makes bird track marks. And the marks on the leaves, they say,
Carry messages to his brother far away. And his brother knows what's in his heart.
They see these marks and they understand the truth in the heart of the far off man.
The enemies can't hear them.?
Said Sequoia's father: ?Son, they weave bad medicine on these talking leaves.
Leave such things to them.?
Then, Sequoia walking lightly followed his father quietly. But so amazed was he.
If the white man talks on leaves, why not the Cherokee?
Banished from his father's gaze. Sequoia went from place to place.
But he could not forget.
Year after year, he worked on and on.
Till finally he cut into stone the Cherokee alphabet.
Sequoia's hair, by now, was white. His eyes began to lose their light.
But he taught all who would believe that the Indian's thoughts could be written down.
And he left us these talking leaves.