Words from Chief Seattle

When the last redman shall have perished,
and the memory of my tribe shall have become
a myth among the White man, Those shores shall
swarm with the invisible dead of the tribe.

At night when the streets of your cities and villages
are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng
with the returning host that once filled and
still love this beautiful land.

The white man will never be alone,
let him be just and dead kindly with my people,
for the dead are not powerless, dead did I say?
There is no death, only a chance of worlds.

Chief Seattle (Dwamish Tribe)

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