Oh, long long
The snow has possessed the mountains.

The deer have come down and the big-horn,
They have followed the Sun to the South
To feed on the mesquite pods and the bunch grass.

Loud are the thunder drums
In the tents of the mountains.
Oh, long, long
Have we eaten chia seeds
And dried deer's flesh of the summer killing.

We are wearied of our huts
And the smoky smell of our garments.
We are sick with desire of the sun
And the grass on the mountains.