The Eternal Heart of Native Culture In valleys where the rivers sing, Where eagle’s wings brush dawn’s first light, The heartbeat of our people rings, A sacred pulse through day and night. The cedar whispers tales of old, Of hands that wove with earth’s own thread, Each story carved in starlight’s gold, By elders’ voices, gently led. The drum’s deep call, the fire’s glow, Bind kin as one beneath the sky, In dance, in song, our spirits grow, A love no storm can ever dry. The cornfields sway, the