Preservation?

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You promised to protect us
but the slaughter has begun.
Our crimson blood splattered
again by politics gun.

We live on reservations
with restricted boundaries.
But this growing bison herd
seeks the food and space it needs.

If we leave for green pastures
guns will take us down on sight.
For sharing land with cattle
you accuse us of cow’s blight.

Snowy valleys we once roamed
now blood stained with bison tears.
Oh, Great Spirit hear our plea
before bison disappears.