The snow lay upon the ground
The spirit of a old native Indian rode into town,
He told stories of hunting buffalo
And how his tribe lived off the land,
But would anybody give
This old Indian a helping hand,
There was no food to be found
Just deep snow on the ground,
The Indian looked old and pale
His cloths were ragged and torn,
The Indian asked food and a drink
And a bed to rest his head,
He would not ask for any more,
So spare a thought this Christmas
Not just for the spirit of a old Indian
But for all the homeless people
Trying to make a living off the land
This Christmas,
why don’t you give them a helping hand.
By Thomas Sims
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