Every time there's rain or snow or sleet or hail,
I bend over to tend my knee,
And think about the times
When I could run and skip and jump
And do all the normal things
That are done by little pups.
But that was before
The bullets came screaming through our door---
The ones that killed my father
And sent my mother to the floor
And ricocheted off the walls
And landed right on me.
It's awfully hard to play children's games
With a wounded knee.