The Goose Quill
The Sauk village wakes to the morning haze
As clover and bluegrass in gentle curl bend
To stretch itself to the rise of the sun
As the river churns in the rapids descend.
The campfires fill with banquet
And stories of the winter gone
As the ancient rejoice with trader’s rum
The hours near the coming dawn.
A warrior captures his place to rhythms
The pulsing life of beating drums
Recapturing once more his skill
The fall his enemy had succumb.
Our village lay empty the forty days
To hunt, fish, gather and mine,
‘Till we meet to share our gifts and feast
These memories view my happy times.
Before settlers raised their homes
The white man claimed our land
And I had never felt the touch
Of the goose quill in my hand.
Homecoming was to a birthplace lost
The ancestors’ graves I couldn’t call on
My heart simply could not recognize
That all I honored in life, was gone.
The Warrior gave reply my surrender
As scarlet ran the Bad Axe tide
And with their cries of victory
Our empire washed ashore and died.
We are as wolves that in craving howl
When once we ran as buffalo in the plain
Silent the quill that killed the flute
Who will offer the dance of the Crane?
Written on behalf of Chief Black Hawk
1767-1838
Originally Posted On Site: 2009-09-25 12:25:14
Last Login: 11.05.11
Visits as of 12-12-07: 245
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