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Red Snow

Shots were fired, she kept running
The 7th Cavalry men were gunning
She felt a sudden burn in her back
A pain that dropped her in her track
She clutched her infant to her chest
Feeling it still nursing on her breast
She tried to reach the trees and hide
The frenzy of rage against native pride
She fell in the icy snow; winds blowing
Crying at red snow; Lakota blood flowing
It was 1890; a mass grave in the ground
Butchered humans piled in a mound
Warriors fought; the rest tried to flee
All were buried at Wounded Knee

© 2017 Eleanor Turano

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