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The American Indian independently invented farming and their women were the first farmers in this country . . . May your moccasins make happy tracks in many snows And the Rainbow always touches your shoulder . . . Lo’ the poor Indian! Whose untutored mind sees God in the clouds or hears him in the wind . . . Like the moon from day to day let my sorrows wear away . . . The Moon, her face it red be of water speaks she . . . Here needy he stands . . . and I am he. At the first sound of the whippoorwill in the spring, the Indian knew it was time for planting.

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