Rondeau No 1
At Wounded Knee, we haunt the hill
Where many moons ago we were killed
As herds of buffalo wax and wane
And big sky and silence don't profane
But bless the land where once we fell.
The Men and our beloved Sitting Bull
Women and Young commune one and all;
We love, we laugh and we dance for rain
At Wounded Knee.
Be not fooled by the silence of the hill
For the air above our bones is not still
But stirring among the oaks and grain
Our fleeting spirits wait not in vain
To arise and breathe again and we shall
At Wounded Knee.
Copyright © Amy Michelle Mosier | Year Posted 2023
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