I dwell within polluted clouds
That shadow days gone by,
When warriors sang of ancient life
Now dead in a darkened sky.
Winter winds that swept these hills
Still cry for natives slain
By the cold alive in greedy hearts
Of men who left this stain.
Cherokee past, now sealed in blood
And bound by cords of time,
Will fade to vapor and be as I –
A mist in a poet’s rhyme
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