Cherokee

BY CAROLE NICHOLS


a most beautiful place of silent mourning,
a trail full of haunting tears;
a river full of lost memories,
home to the people for hundreds of years.

in this quiet place of towering trees,
the wolf is gone with a keening cry,
the bear dances now the dance of clowns,
and the best of a race made to die.

yet wrapped in the myterious time,
nature has held the truth in her heart,
it has kept the paths of the heros
who return in spirit never to depart.

gone are they now, but for the memory,
the trail filled with bitter tears,
a feather falls and lies forgotten,
because of white mans' greed and fears.

go stand high upon the mountain top;
reach out for something that is gone,
search for a truth that won't be hidden,
and find yourself all alone.

except for the echo of the wolf,
except for the flute that sings in the wind,
reminding you over and over again
there are some wrongs that time can't mend.