Perhaps you think the Creator sent you here to dispose of us as you see fit   If I thought you were sent by the creator   I might be induced to think you had a right to dispose of me   Do not misunderstand me   But understand me fully with reference to my affection for the land   I never said the land was mine to do with as I choose   The one who has a right to dispose of it is the one who has created it      I claim a right to live on my land   And accord you the privilege to return to yours   Brother we have listened to your talk   Coming from our father the great White Chief at Washington   And my people have called upon me to reply to you   And in the winds which pass through these aged pines   We hear the moanings of their departed ghosts      And if the voice of our people could have been heard   That act would never have been done   But alas though they stood around they could neither be seen or heard   Their tears fell like drops of rain   I hear my voice in the depths of the forest   But no answering voice comes back to me   All is silent around me   My words must therefore be few   I can now say no more      He is silent for he has nothing to answer when the sun goes down