Dreaming
A young indian boy of ten summers old sat upon a knoll.
Watching a horse heard below,the great white stallion with his head held high.
He was the chiefs joy and pride, he had often heard the worriors say.
HE could run like the wind, as the young indian boy sat and dreamed of the day.
He would ride in a buffolo hunt with his arrow aimed true.
And ride like the wind upon his enemys too.
Then the white man came,the buffolo all gone, even his people are nearly all gone.
. As the old gray haired indian sits in his chair. dreaming how life would have been.
IF only the white man had never been there.
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Copyright © Russell Knuckles | Year Posted 2011
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