04-08-2014, 10:50 AM
Puyallup and the Sacred Fire
A prayer for spring . . .
There is a sound sweet as the mountain springs
that rustles through the evergreens above
Multnomah Falls. A wind whose whistle sings
the song of lovers in the treeline grove.
Loowit stands with curves so full and round
two men once fought for her in a great war.
They shook the hills and scorched the holy ground.
Many a village was burned both near and far.
And the Great Chief was saddened by the pain
the war had caused. He turned the three to stone.
And every winter there is endless rain -
the tears of lovers left to stand alone.
But spirits sing as spirits do inspire.
Loowit stands snow-capped and full of fire.
A prayer for spring . . .
There is a sound sweet as the mountain springs
that rustles through the evergreens above
Multnomah Falls. A wind whose whistle sings
the song of lovers in the treeline grove.
Loowit stands with curves so full and round
two men once fought for her in a great war.
They shook the hills and scorched the holy ground.
Many a village was burned both near and far.
And the Great Chief was saddened by the pain
the war had caused. He turned the three to stone.
And every winter there is endless rain -
the tears of lovers left to stand alone.
But spirits sing as spirits do inspire.
Loowit stands snow-capped and full of fire.