A Rhyming Tale of the Barbaric, Murderous, Trail of Tears

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....