Old Man… new Smoke Poem by Little Eagle McGowan

He drifted kinda loose in the free life, weathered all down in grace.
The circle of cold hard choices, always was all his to make.
Like a joke he took to his chances, counting no less of the stakes.
It is said he once outran the devil, from a town called Devil's Face.

But now the high desert cold keeps blowing snow dust,
Pricks his skin worse than beating down rain.
He's an old quarter moon turned the colour of rust,
His painted pony's just 'bout lost Its mane.

Never dreamin' of nuthin' to swear, fuss or cuss,
He'd just as soon bless as be blamed.
They say he's out waitin', it's the Badlands or bust,
Hell bent till the Sioux ride again.! !

His wife and love is eighty, his closest and truest of friends.
And now his grandchildren's children, teach him of Buddha and Zen.
He's seen America shining and the sight of Its nearing end.
Lone Black Hills warrior- dreamer, an antient vision defends.