~ Echoes Of
Wounded Knee ~
A woman
lay on the ground about to die
she spoke, My son, pass me by ...
Run, save your self and your brother
was the plea of this dying Mother
She had no place to run or go
She lay dying in the frozen snow
There on a Wounded Knee hill
her spirit's voice echoes still...
As Indians bravely met their long
bitter foe
Three hundred fifty lay dead in the
snow
Only the hills could hear the Mother's
weep
As they embraced death's final sleep...
In our hearts, we will always remember
That twenty ninth day, in a cold
December
Floating on Wounded Knee's cold air
Forever, their spirit's voices echo
there...
Wovoka, son of a mystic, while alone
had a vision all of his own...
In his vision he could see
Return of old ways, living again free
The Ghost Dance started that 1890 year
and in the white soldiers it struck
fear...
In their coward's hearts it wasn't
surprising
they feared an all out Indian uprising...
The Indian's wore magic shirts made by
hand
for protection against bullets of the
white man
They Ghost Danced by night and day...
for return of the old ones and the old
way
The magic shirts did not work though
and they would soon die, there in the
snow
Most were children, and widows of
Native Sons
Mercilessly slaughtered by heavy
Gatlin guns...
Crying out, cold winds seized their
words
Echoes of their cries can still be
heard
This was white man's most horrible sin
the slaughter of innocent women and
children
Under that cold wintry December sky
Chief Big Foot was the first to die
His was a proud and gentle soul...
He died with his people in the wintry
cold
This image, through the winds of time
cannot be erased from heart or mind
For every Indian heart there that died
their memory is locked to our souls
inside
It's been written as a historical fact
Soldiers received medals for this
heinous act...
Government men, from the very start
Planned this murder of Indian's brave
hearts
More than lives died there that day
a dream of freedom was taken away
Lying dead by a frozen bare gulch
stream
Dashed and destroyed was their dream...
What about their descendants alive
today...
Living in poverty with their pride
stripped away
Does your heart's spirit not care
at the agony still suffered there?
Where many lives were lost and hearts
bled
and so many sorrowful tears was shed
All across that lone Wounded Knee hill
Echoes of their cries for freedom is
heard still
Barbara LaBarbera
(LadyBleaux)
©
2004 used with permission
ThunderWolfLA@aol.com
*Based on Massacare suvivor's stories
*Thanks to Dragon Fly (Cherokee)
& Red Hawk(Lakota) for advise &
encouragement
*See more facts about this tragedy in
American Indian history here:
Bold Tongue's Native American Links
Page
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