The Solders At Wounded Knee
By Myrtle Poor ©
Not much could be done
About the battle at wounded knee.
The valley was strewn
With the dead bodies of two nations.
Brave men had fought
And died for liberty,
Having run to meet their enemies.
Bodies lay cold and limp,
For there was no one to pick them up,
When they had fallen.
There was no one to hold them,
In their arms or tell them they loved them
As their life passed from them.
All was still; not one movement
Could be seen by mortal eye.
Then first a hand raised,
And then a head.
And just a moment
Before a body gave up its soul
A young solider cried,
"Forgive me, Mom...
For not coming home,
But please know that
I love you so much."
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