He proved himself beyond a doubt
counting coup so many times,
our undefeated warrior
and maker of many rhymes.
Hunting with spear and bow
bringing meat home for the pots,
warm robes from the Elk he slew
red trim from the fox.
He rode the swiftest pony
his lance the truest thrown,
wives and children loved him
waiting there at home.
But his counsel was rejected
when asked about the whites,
he sounded like a woman
telling us not to fight.
He knew them best we understood
and hated them the worst,
saying when war began
his death would be the first.
The whites are without honor
and have too many guns,
killing all opposed to them
even he who runs.
His prediction was fulfilled of course
making true our greatest fears;
he was not there to lead us
on the trail of tears.
by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved
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