“We live, we die and like the grass and trees,

renew ourselves from the soft clods of the grave.

Stones crumble and decay, Faiths grow old
and they are fogotten but new beliefs are born.

The faith of the villages is dust now… but it will grow again…
like the trees.

May serenity circle on silent wings and catch the whisper of the winds.”

-Chief Joseph of the Nes Perce