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   Please respect author copyright Do not copy or use poetry without permission from Lora Cox

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