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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required morning sun, a newborn babe, exhales her first breath each dawn in mist daybreak’s kiss straddles the North Carolina and Tennessee line Cherokee Nation’s last reservation remains within a hazy, vaporous veil nearly two centuries crept past since 14,000 ill and hungry Cherokees trekked the Trail of Tears moving westward wearily to sparse lands that precluded hunting, farming by President Jackson’s ignoble decree many perished along the trail sacrificed to a selfish quest for gold travelers still witness indomitable spirits rising to life each night as mist fades with setting sun accusations of injustice echo through the Smoky Mountains to the tempo of tribal drums Native Americans reenact futile but peaceful efforts to keep their homes to remain one nation to survive to thrive as ancestors did scent of death ascends from sacred grounds woodlands that have forever lost their greenery now just cloudy scenery peaks that resurrect dreary history “reservation,” a trifling gesture from a selfish territorial invader speak to the spirits at sunset beckon them to keep their honorable legacy alive then feel damp anguish in foggy daybreak souls returning to the forest floor only to resurrect again when darkness drapes the mountains once more the curse the shame Smoky Mountains Cherokee birthright denied *Written August 20, 2014
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