They Call It Wounded Knee

They Call It Wounded Knee I came, I saw, I cried; To the field where they died. They call it Wounded Knee; My peoples' history. Bodies lying, frozen to the ground; No mourners to be found. Children still clinging to their mothers; Laying dead beside their brothers. The smell of death in the air; Pools of blood everywhere. Babies with their heads bashed in; To waste an army bullet on them would be a sin. Soldiers surveying their wicked deeds; Mugging for pictures with the "savage" breed. Celebrating the slaughter of the Sioux; Burial is for Christians, but for Indians a mass grave would do. Sporting medals upon their chest; Saying that they conquered the west. Taking the lives of an entire race; Feeling no remorse or disgrace. I came, I saw , I cried; I asked questions of why. The people of Wounded Knee; Could not have life and liberty. The answer was simply said; "Kill the animals until they're all dead". "Let my God sort them out"; Land is what it's all about. The place where the mighty Sioux fell; Is a white man's hell. Once was a place of pride; The field where they died. Darlene Doll Smith