All along the trail
as they were force-marched
the twelve thousand Cherokee people
sang Christian hymns
ill preparation by the government
failed to adequately provide
the bare necessities
and the harsh weather
led to about four thousand
falling ill and dying
wooden crosses and shallow graves
were strewn from one end of the trail
to the other end
these are now gone
but not forgotten
and the blemish
on the nation
that calls itself great
is indelible
written in Aboriginal blood
and can never be removed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very nice. A beautiful poem indeed. Thanks for sharing.