This poem was inspired by the Choctaw tribe's plight on the Trail of Tears.
The people feel it, this tribal pride.
In their ancestors who survived,
the great Native genocide.
The Cherokees, the Choctaws, the
Chickasaws, the Creeks.
They all suffered horrors of which
few ever speak.
The people, these Natives,
the first in the land, were
dealt a terrible, cruel, unfair hand.
Their lands were taken, their homes were denied.
They were forced to march until many died.
They were sent to lands far away,
where their tribes would rise,
strong and proud someday.
America! The home of the free,
the land of the brave! Americans did this
to the tribes,
no matter what they gave.
Treaties were signed,
agreements were made.
These promises by the government were broken,
with their lives my people paid!
But, still the waters run!
Still the grasses grow!
The tribes thrive today, and
their histories we will know.
For their history is everyone's history,
their story, everyone's story.
They survived to tell the tale,
of their honor and glory.