The Tracker
He goes slowly, a turtle in motion
Goes all day long, never says a word
The desert sand is dry and hot, it tells the tale
They are his problem, finding them is his solution
The bird and the breeze plays his song, nothing else can be heard
A sip of water and he is back on their trail
Follows the tracks made by their feet, he can smell their scent
Their tracks tell the story, he know if they are moving fast or slow
The Sun and time are on his side, their ball and chain
His thoughts are miles ahead, he knows where they went
Back packs filled with drugs are heavy, their tracks will show
No food and water, they are feeling hunger's pain
They are walking in circles, seeing an oasis on the horizon
He takes a sip form his canteen, it won't be long for him to wait
The Sun is hot and high, the buzzards circle over head
He know that they will see tomorrow's dawn
No sense of direction, for them it is to late
He will find their bones, but they will be dead
It is the same old story, over and over again
A fish out of water trying to swim in a desert land
Their tracks tell the tale, and that is all they leave behind
The tracker's job is done, but really he did not win
Greed got in their eyes, dying is all they understand
In the world's largest cemetery, for history to find
Many illegal aliens coming over are from Central America, in the jungles. They know
nothing or what it can do. Some are forced to mule drugs, not giving them any food
or water on their journey...telling them that Chicago is just over the hill. Then the
trackers or buzzards come to pick their bones and salvage the drugs left behind?
of the desert
Copyright © Danny Nunn | Year Posted 2010
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