Calling the Thunderbird


	CALLING THE THUNDERBIRD The warrior struggles with his wounds as the cold highlights his breath, It becomes slow and labored as he fights to postpone his death. His people are scattered and killed, their dreams are dashed for evermore, They were slaughtered just like vermin for the different color of skin they bore. His mind is numbed with pain the cold he can no longer feel, His legs are now too weak to carry on with his determined will. He takes one final look at the land he will no longer roam, Then cries out to the Great Spiritto send the Mighty Thunderbird to take him home. JRS © 3-20-01 The "Okie" Poet All poems copyrighted ã1997-... Spring Creations The "Okie" Poet All Rights Reserved