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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required My Pa said he thought it best When we joined the wagon train heading west He said the land is being given away We could make a home there and forever stay. I am the son of a tribal chief Born to lead others was his belief Our homes the white man kept taking from us Our faith in the spirits we put our trust. We heard the cries of their warring call And circled the wagons before the fall We were outnumbered ten to one And prayed to God as they did come. Their sticks of fire echoed through the land Reaching much farther than our arrows can Horses and braves had their spirits rubbed out But we would prevail I had no doubt. I saw the arrow pierce through my Pa I saw many braves starting to fall Women and children were dying too We had to stop these white men from passing through We started to fight hand to hand We couldn’t give up any more of our land With death all around me the last man I stood The Great Spirit protected me, as I knew he would. The dust settled down and I stood face to face With the last savage Indian standing in this place His face was painted bright yellow and red Everyone around us was already dead. I looked the white beast straight in the eye And noticed that he was no older than I I was the last of my party alive He was the last white man to survive. He lowered his war club and looked all around His stick of fire made no more sound Then on his horse once more he got bound I rode back home to my sacred ground. Entry in the Giddy Up contest
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