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Poem

There’s so much that, 
has to be answered for by government rats.
Another thanksgiving; 
new stories folks will impart to the living.
Kind souls remember the pain, 
so felt by indigenous hearts, on the plains.
Greedy conquests, once reined, 
in friendship’s cloak so vane. 
Of torn apart, 
visionaries and their dreams ripped from hearts. 
In truth, souls were slaughtered;
numerous hearts were altered, 
folks drawn and quartered;  
too many native dreams, murdered.

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