They bowed their heads in misery
As they walked that dreadful trail so long
Their eyes swollen and red
While they sing a prayerful song
Their fingers turning black
And cold
As they sing a song
Of old
They children no longer laugh
They elders spend their day
Walking ‘long the path
As they try and pray
The family cries
As the mother passes ‘way
The father dies
As the children pray
They feel the pain
At their core
In their souls for their bodies
Can feel no more
Every day ‘bout 14 die
The elders sing
And the families cry
They say the wound will heal
When peace arrives
The animals of the forest
Now feel sorrow in their hearts
The pain of the Indians
Whom lye dead in the carts
The suffering ends
on fateful day
as they birds sing
and deer pray
The end is then
But not without loss
nearly 4,000 died
Without making it across
The tears shed along the way
Will never be forgotten
Not even to this day
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem