I often recall an old song
My granny sang long ago.
It brought tears to my eyes
As she sang soft and low.

The melody was hauntingly sad
And the story it told was true,
About a lonely Indian brave
And the life that he once knew.

He told about his homeland
Deep within a forest glade,
But only memories remained,
Memories that would never fade.

He told of his loving parents
And of siblings, there were two,
They lived in peace and harmony
And of troubles, there were few.

He fell in love with a maiden
And asked her to be his wife,
She bore him three children brave,
The pride of his young life.

But then the white man came
With his canons and his guns
And took away all he had known
Including his three sons.

Only he was left to tell the tale,
Broken, sad and all alone,
Ever looking skyward, yearning,
For the Great Spirit to call him home.

All that he knew and loved
Rested beneath the cold clay,
For the guns of the white man
Came and took them all away.


Lora Cox

 

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