I walk
head down through the bitter cold
only a light buckskin for warmth
there is little food
and no time for rest

I am near the front
no idea how many are lost
the old, the sick
the little ones

the memory of these days
along the trail of tears
will die
like the burning embers of a once mighty fire

these horrors will not be spoken
in the teachings of those whose greed
and cold hearts
outweighed their compassion
whose concrete jungles mar
the once majestic landscape

the years of separation grows
but the atrocities shall never be vanquished
in the realm of the spirit world
and those who initiated the culling
pay their penance
and walk the trail for eternity