The white men are coming
What to do, what to do
The white men are coming
Pack your things, they're coming soon
My people, my tribe
My nation, my pride
Washing away in a trail of tears
What can I do
What can I do
To save my culture
To save our memories
To save my people
To save my tribe
The white men are coming
With long hands of fire
They scream in our ears to move
My brother, he fights
He fights to protect us
A white man in blue raises his gun
And with a bang, my brother drops dead
My people, my tribe
My nation, my pride
Washing away in a trail of tears
What can I do
What can I do
To save my culture
To save our memories
To save my people
To save my tribe
The baby, he cries
For his mother, who dies
Of sickness and cold
Of despair and sadness
The children, they weep
The elders, they cry
"Why can we not live our own lives?"
The warriors, disarmed
The chief has no authority
We travel with our enemies
To an unknown land
The enemy tribes, the friendly clans
Share in our pain, sorrow, fear
On this trail of tears
YOU ARE READING
ᎤᏲᎠᏰᎸᏅ
PoetryThe Cherokee suffered great harshness while being forced to trek the Trail of Tears. Maybe it was time one spoke their thoughts about it. Collab poem with @TsukiyomiArmin :)
