In the Misty Hours of the Morn

By J. Linn Rose © 2000

 

Like a storm

Dead world warriors

With cruelty their keep

Fell upon the children still asleep

In the misty hours of the morn

 

Mothers and fathers clutched their young

Before the sun’s red kiss of day

Could touch their tiny faces

Could touch the tiny ones

In the misty hours of the morn

 

Grey-eyed warriors horseback worn

Buffalo soldiers battle torn

Rode the plains people down

In the misty hours of the morn

 

They died beneath the roaring guns

Beneath the bloody sabers

They died before sun

Could touch their frightened faces

Could touch the tiny ones

In the misty hours of the morn

 

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