Wounded Knee

In Pine ridge, at Wounded Knee,
A massacre has been interred.
Though all are dead who then did see,
The truth was told, the story heard.
Hundreds of men, children, and wives
Greeted at gunpoint with harsh enmity.
Almost none were left alive.
In Pine Ridge, at Wounded Knee.

In bitter cold, the subjugated
Left to seek a safer fate.
Their move had been anticipated-
Once they learned, it was too late.
A cavalry hinging murderous,
Were sent to catch the refugees-
To intercept the exodus,
In Pine Ridge, at Wounded Knee.

They were stripped and searched, humiliated.
Silenced were those who opposed.
Their weapons taken, confiscated.
Until no threat at all they posed.
Yet even then, they were harassed,
And were treated with animosity.
And as a result, what came to pass
Was the bloody slaughter at Wounded Knee.

Yellow bird, a shaman every inch,
Began a ghost dance, vigorous,
About strong Sioux hearts that cannot flinch
And pale-man weapons turning to dust.
This action was the breaking point,
The prisoners were searched again,
And a rifle with a rusty joint
Laid low one of the soldiers’ men.

‘Ere confusion’s veil raised,
Carnage had occurred.
Men were dead, and tents were razed,
Gone was yellow bird.
Now piled high up in his stead
For all who cared to see,
Were the bodies of the many dead,
In Pine Ridge, at Wounded Knee.