T'was the day I saw my tribe fall,
They took our land to build a mall.
Women and children crying with tear,
Sounds of horror was all I could hear.
The putrid smells tingling my nose,
falling on the ground was a rose.
I picked it up, as a last memory,
and put it all in a story.
The white men drove us all out,
Why did we not have a doubt?
My father, the chief is long way gone,
The killing of the whites has been done.
My brother and I were sent to a school,
The others looked at me like a fool.
For many years I was alone,
and learned things, like a phone.
I went to Europe to study some more,
but got slammed in my face with a door.
I eventually became a doctor,
To treat those with a sore.
I married and had a kid,
and I told him what I did,
when my dear home was taken.
He seemed sad and all shaken.
So here is my story, here for you and to all,
This is the day I saw my tribe fall.
