Back in the hills of Utah State
Where, Indian tribes used to conjugate.
Can be seen caves of marked distinction.
Mined out till coal is nearly a matter of extinction.
Often visitors let their children dart in and out
And, finally have to recall them with a shout.
The Indians now live on the reservation.
Or in town depending upon their status or station.
But every so often they gather at one of the old mines.
For a pow-wow to recall the tribes improvement or decline.
This way the younger generation can learn about their history.
As the elders relate wars lost the children become misty.
My friend and I grew up in this beautiful land.
Indian children were are loyal friends.
We both remember wonderful days gone by .
Where happy and sad memories do apply.
Times of our youth, gone so swiftly.
We used to think speed was nifty.
But now we find ourselves to be elders.
No longer can we be the dedicated soldiers.
Instead we find we are the teachers and scholars.
But no one to accompany us wearing a tribal collar.
Time still races by , seems like lightening speed
No audience from the following generation to heed
Important lessons ,of a long and fruitful life.
Where God erases the toils and strife.
The worn out mines stand empty and forlorn.
In the majestic mountains where we were born.
Perhaps these many years will allow us to be
The ones to wear the collar and hold the key.
May we with God's help be the bright beacon
Of hope, that will endure and never weaken.
Will keep alive a rich and vibrant history of a tribe
Through the work of some young dedicated scribe
Who foregoes the enticements of the gambling hall
To record enduring stories that will forever enthrall.
