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https://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/TheTrailOfTears-Cherokee.html

A Rhyming Tale Of The Barbaric, Murderous, Trail Of Tears

Sun had failed to rise on this once deep and true red-bloodied land
Horrors of death, shock and saddest surprise was soon to be at hand
Tiny moccasin feet trudged along in coldest of that bitter wintry cold
So many innocent lives, would never live to become another year old
All captured, forced on a march, their innocent lives had been sold.

Proud and hearty race of people living true within Nature's fold
By government order captured,sent away,because greed and lies told
Imagine being dragged out, forced to travel barefoot in brutal weather
Those that so loved their homeland and oft wore proudly eagle feathers
The old and frail oft beaten by wagon driver's stinging whip's leather.

Shall we now so trample newborn flowers, forget our ancient dead
Denying hope's sweetest dreams and stumble forth blindly instead
Shall we forget deliberate horrors and think love and mercy won instead
Or dare to see barbarity, murder and murder of those whose skin was red
Or hide historic tragedy while we sleep warm, and safe in our beds.

Dare we examine massive cruelties that man inflicts with heavy hand
Walk along each blinded path embracing evil's dark, few can withstand
What of four thousands innocent lives lost for such greed, ill gains
Is not this true historic account a lesson, evidence of wicked stains
Fraught with great tragedy, unnecessary deaths and god awful pains.

In my dreams I see, those poor children starving or else frozen to death 
In my harshest oaths, swear never again, not while I still have living breath
O' the wails and moans of mothers crying out such grave, grievous loss
While their hardhearted cavalry masters, carried on giving not a damn toss 
With no more thought than that of kicking over rocks, covered with moss.

Sun had failed to rise on this once deep and true red-bloodied land
Horrors of death, shock and saddest surprise was soon to be at hand
Tiny moccasin feet trudged along in coldest of that bitter wintry cold
So many innocent lives, would never live to become another year old
All captured, forced on a march, their innocent lives had been sold.

Not for any contest
Robert J. Lindley, 
Rhyme, (Based on the true story of horrific inhumanity, murder and epic loss of Native Americans)
11-18-2018
NOT FOR CONTEST....
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