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