a Song for Innocence


Raw, gray clouds roll across December frost.
Big Chief Bigfoot waves flag upon a stick
but all that's left are promises. the cost:
too many brothers lost and dying quick.

Oh, listen as their cries reverberate!
the young and old that bleed at Wounded Knee
forever dance their ghost beyond that hate;
their stamping souls beneath the sun set free.

On Greasy Grass dies Custer with no gold;
hear Black Hills of Lakota's singing glee.
No stick with white flag may his men unfold;
a failed attack, his 7th Cavalry.

Run, run, boy! from your mother's frantic fears.
Your baby brother's heart will shed our tears.

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