In Yellowstone's embrace, where wild spirits roam, A rare white buffalo is born, prophecy's tome. Lakota voices whisper through the windswept grass, A sacred sign emerges, as ages past.
A calf of snowy white, a vision pure, A symbol of hope, of times to endure. Blessing bestowed, yet a cautionary tale, A call to protect where the wild ones prevail.
Chief Arvol Looking Horse speaks with ancient grace, His words a solemn echo in this hallowed place. "This birth," he says, "is both blessing and warning, A dawn of better times, yet a sign of mourning."
The earth's heart beats with each creature's plight, Guardians of nature must rise to the fight. For in this calf's eyes, we see a plea, To shield our world, to let it be free.
So let us heed this sacred birth's decree, To honor and safeguard all we see. For in the white buffalo, a truth profound, Better times await, if we protect this ground.
