Wounded Knee


It echos all around,

in the tall prairie grass.

Screams of fear,

cries from the past.

On one dark day,

a horror had occured.

For no reason but power,

gentle people were murdered.

For performing a Ghost Dance,

to restore their way and their land.

The strong and proud Lakota Sioux,

were unaware of what was at hand.

A single shot was fired,

and the bloody massacre began.

When done, there lay in the white snow,

the bloody bodies of over 300 women, children and men.

Such a senseless, inhuman slaughter-

for most of them were unarmed.

Then the vicious troops proceeded to butcher,

all those who had remained unharmed.

For on that horrible, nightmarish day,

in December of Eighteen Ninety.

The regal Sioux were brutaly cut down,

to prove the whites were mighty.

But that wasn't really so, the whites,

they were cowards and they were weak.

To shoot down small, helpless children,

who were innocent and meek.

Murdered for their land,

and what they believed.

They had no way to survive,

this wasichu's seige.

Those Native Spirits remain now,

among the headstones and trees.

A powerful, painful reminder,

of the tragedy at Wounded Knee.

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