~ 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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