On quiet afternoons in the Fall ,  Oaks and Maple cry , drumming of war heard through the pines , for on this hallowed ground Georgia was  divided , Native Tribes became belligerent , the Northern third of a nation lost , on this very day, late afternoon , by rushing water , voices whisper agony of Chief McIntosh , warring tribes of Cherokee , Creek in battle , brother against brother , bitterly divided over outside aggression , by stroke of pen , broken treaty and deceit ,  forest alive with ghost of man woman and child , the ensuing Trail of Tears and destruction of a once proud Nation ...