Oldest footsteps on Colorado’s land, The Ute walk softly where mountains stand. From valley low to peak so high, Their spirit soars beneath the sky.
Through plains and forests, rivers wide, Their hearts beat strong with nature’s stride. The earth, their mother, steady and true, The skies, their father, vast and blue.
Pikes Peak rises, sacred, bold, A watchful guardian, ancient, old. In whispered winds and sunlight’s grace, The Ute find strength, a rooted place.
Ute Mountain Ute, Southern Ute’s line, In Colorado’s heart, their spirits shine. With stories deep as canyon walls, Their heritage stands, and ever calls.
The land remembers each sacred rite, Of fires burned and stars at night. In mountains high and rivers wide, Forever lives the Ute tribe’s pride.
