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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Not so long ago ... your numbers darkened the west a noble profile of strength and pride and the epitome of the innate, free, pioneering spirit that your country was founded upon ... It is said that single groups of your kind painted the plains in numbers that spanned from state-to-state, as powerful and dominant as any species that came before you ... Yet in perfect balance with nature, and not to the detriment of the creatures with which you shared that stark and majestic landscape. But it would be ONE of those creatures ... That affected that balance to YOUR detriment and liability - those brutal creatures were at once more intelligent and more disgraceful in their selfish intent to utilize to their benefit only ... Everything that they came into contact with, and you were an easy and abundant target for their spoils. These vain beings saw no end to your numbers, and endless profit to their use and your abdication ... Oh, some of those beings who had come to their attainment alongside you - the ones with burnished and painted skin, respected and treated you as they did their own ... Taking only what was needed for their survival and safety leaving no portion underutilized ... but larger of their number - the ones with bleached skin who called you "Buffalo" ... Those who had come from a land unknown and asunder, took your hides only, and left the rest ... their horrid waste was left to bloat and rot and stain the emerald grasses ... They had no appreciation for your noble and rugged beauty no care for the crimes that they brought upon you, no interest in ANYthing, other than what put gold in their pockets ... And so the streams and rivers ran red with your remains the once innumerable herds were pared and chewed and whittled and hacked and slaughtered for the sake their selfishness ... Your skulls were stacked in numbers that stole breath from those who cared, your hides were washed and worn and wasted on the further want of these pale beings until you were nearly gone ... Gone from the grand lands that once groaned with the thunder of your hooves, until the masses of dark majesty that had once flooded the prairies, became speckled and sparse. For those of us who now look back with shame and regret at the devastation and abomination that our kind wrought upon you, I am deeply, soulfully sorry and heartily penitent for our crime ... I, and many others like me shall hereby endeavor to always regard you with admiration and wonder and do our best to teach the generations to come of your grand nobility and stately stature ... You, Mighty Tatonka. ~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Native American Lore" Poetry Contest, Frank Herrera, Judge & Sponsor.
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