Quote image editor
“This is a song the Papago Indians like to sing when they go traveling around somewhere: They have gone, The birds of the sky. They have gone, The animals of the earth, They have returned Along their own trail. On a white rock under the Moon, On a red rock under the Sun, On a black rock they sat, On a yellow rock they rested And looked back and saw butterflies, They looked behind them and saw A whirlwind, And they watched the whirlwind And it was a tree Standing in a cool shadow. They sit under the tree in the shadow, They sit under the still tree. (page 68, The Great Wheat Harvest)” — George Webb
This is a song the Papago Indians like to sing when they go traveling around somewhere:
They have gone,
The birds of the sky.
They have gone,
The animals of the earth,
They have returned
Along their own trail.
On a white rock under the Moon,
On a red rock under the Sun,
On a black rock they sat,
On a yellow rock they rested
And looked back and saw butterflies,
They looked behind them and saw
A whirlwind,
And they watched the whirlwind
And it was a tree
Standing in a cool shadow.
They sit under the tree in the shadow,
They sit under the still tree.
(page 68, The Great Wheat Harvest)