THEIR PEOPLE

It was a lonely journey
Although the number was sixteen thousand strong
Forced to seek a final home...
A land to house this native throng.

Four thousand lonely journeymen
On the sad, and powerless trek
Failed to find this final home
A place to lay to rest.

But, a Cherokee Nation of twelve thousand souls
Found refuge: There among the stately Bois d'arc
Standing ready to protect amid the gentle Dogwood
Along the river bank.

Rich land that seemed to beckon
A land of promise and of hope
A land of new beginnings
To end the story that tears wrote.

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