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Native American Poetry

Great Land of the Shawnee
Rolling plains of Shawnee Chief
All is gone and lost in grief
White men took away their land
Forced from home to places planned
The old ways were now long gone
Faded like the morning dawn
What was once grand, is no more
Instead of rich, the land is poor
The shawnee sits atop a hill
He shivers from the autumn chill
Through tear filled eyes he looks around
Cardboard houses on the sacred ground
As he recalls the old shawnee tale
Of how this land thrived, and wasn't pale
Belonging to all, no cost, but free
A home for the deer, the corn and the tree
The proud shawnee released a long sigh
Tilting his head he looked to the sky
He uttered a prayer to the wind
That someday this land would thrive again

- Young Author's Conference, 1981

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