Their eyes have seen more then their share of wilderness ways.
Their skin has felt the touch of winters harsh unrelenting days.
They are weathered and drawn with faces of leather.
Their eyes have the determination of generations and it's reflected in the slight smiles of friends.
Their hands wove leather straps and their hair has turned gray from natures wrath.
There is a place they have like no other where memories of deep woodlands
and cherished others have a value written in blood.
A wisdom fills their eyes, the knowledge of ages told in stories without lies.
Their dress as simple as their manners. Their pride plainly evident to all others.
They've lived in ways long remembered in the wilderness of foggy forgots.
They've eaten of the liver of great bison and culled the herds for their winter cloth.
Gentle men without being weak. Hardened men without being abusive.
Wise old men is what they are, having looked beyond the stars...to where their ancesters are.
Surely, an entire race of generations is reflected in the slight smile of these friends.