 |
 |
| A Lost Coup by � cherokee_thorn Over the drums of time hearts yearn for a lost land. Fathers families driven to desolate barren ground. Escorts descendants live full well in wigwams of steel and stone. Plains of buffalo chips buried under black oil smelling trails. Lodge poles of endless miles of wire. Tears nourish the wildflowers yet untouched. knees press forgotten footprints of the past. Clouded now by my prayers of smoke. Cherokee Thorn � 2002 |