Laughing Fox Tail

Whispers of the Lakota Horse

From the heart of the Lakota plains,
a horse rises like dawn,
its mane woven with winds
that once carried warriors to battle.

Mountains bloom within its spirit,
stone and snow becoming flesh,
echoing the heartbeat of the earth,
steady, unbroken, eternal.

Its eyes hold the stories of the tribe,
of dances beneath the moon,
of prayers cast into the river,
of fires that never die.

Each breath is a song,
each step a promise—
to protect the land,
to honor the ancestors,
to remember the sacred bond.

The elders say,
“Do not just see the horse,
listen.
For within its silence
is the voice of the Great Spirit,
guiding us home.”
🎨Artist and the storyteller : Elvis Becker

The Sacred Buffalo of the Plains

Beneath the wide and endless sky,
Where prairie winds in freedom sigh,
The buffalo walks, a living prayer,
A spirit born from earth and air.

With mighty hooves it shakes the ground,
Where tribal drums and hearts resound,
A gift of life, a holy guide,
The Lakota sing by the fireside.

"Great Buffalo, keeper of grain,
Protector through drought, through storm, through pain.
Your breath is mist, your soul is flame,
We honor you, we speak your name."

In ancient times, when the plains were new,
The White Buffalo Woman came into view.
She carried a pipe, a sacred song,
Teaching the people where they belong.

The designs upon its noble hide,
Are stories of ancestors, stars as guide.
Sun and moon, the circle of kin,
Life’s great journey etched within.

The buffalo feeds, the buffalo gives,
Through every cycle, the people live.
Its flesh, its bone, its sacred horn,
The tribe renewed, the tribe reborn.

But whispers rise on the western breeze,
Of broken treaties, of fallowed trees.
The buffalo cries, the people pray,
To keep the spirit from fading away.

Still, in the night beneath the flame,
The elders gather and speak its name:
"Mitákuye Oyás’iŋ" — all are one,
Beneath the stars, beneath the sun.
🎨Artist and the storyteller : Elvis Becker

"Song of the Hawk"

Upon the cliffs where wild winds roam,
The hawk takes flight, its heart the home.
Eyes of fire, sharp and clear,
Guardian of skies, the land holds dear.

It rides the sun, it tastes the rain,
It soars through joy, it dives through pain.
Messenger of the earth and sky,
A spirit born to never die.

The forests whisper, the rivers sing,
Of freedom carried on feathered wing.
Oh, noble hawk, so fierce, so free,
A symbol of strength for all to see.

Through endless skies, it charts its way,
Guiding hearts to a brighter day.
Nature’s voice, both wild and true,
Lives in the hawk—and speaks to you.
🎨Artist and the storyteller : Elvis Becker