The End of the Trail
Upon a wall out in the west,
A print hung nailed to adobe.
A beaten Indian warrior hangs his head
On his horse on a cliff so sadly.
His braid disheveled, a tear I think,
A memory upon an impressionable child.
I can still feel with my little girl's heart,
When I recall "The End of the Trail."
Now that little girl is nearing that end,
Her battles not the same, but done.
With the hope she’ll meet that Indian again,
With his head high, his war now won.
Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2019
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