He was working in the corn field
he was gathering in the grain
he was shucking out the roasting ears
the day the soldiers came
These soldiers just kept riding
down that dusty Georgia road
and the horses were all stomping
on the land he just had hoed
They came with pointed bayonets
just a cussing and a bragging
then they tied him up, both hands and feet
and throwed hm in the wagon
There were lots of crying babies
and old men with heads all bowed
for in that old and worn out wagon
was a cold and weeping crowd
When they were ordered from their home steads
soldiers wouldn't let them bring a thing
no extra clothes, no cooking pots
there was nothing they could bring
They had the clothes that they were wearing
nothing else that they loved best
all they had was precious memories
for they had to leave the rest
His father was walking, they said, way too slow
he was old and bent andd grey
and when he tripped upon a pine knot
they just shot him where he lay
On down the trail the Creeks were taken
in solomn sad defeat
they were losing homes and families
and all they could do was weep
There was no friends among the soldiers
they were just the dreaded foe
they were beaten, starved and slaughtered
by he white man's awful blow
They beat the little children
who had nothing there to eat
they were crying and unhappy
there were no shoes upon their feet
It was cold out in those wagons
they had not one thing to keep them warm
and they didn't hacve a cover
for when it snowed or if it stormed
It was about a month on down the road
the day was right and sunny
but soon it turned to dark
the soldiers killed his mother
they just shot her through the heart
they took her life because she stumbled
she was old and could not stand
and she never knew the reason
and she never finished up 'the Trail of Tears'
to Oklahoma land
He was working in the corn field
on that dark and horrid day
and they killed him too, upon the trail
because he tried to kneel and pray
Thank you for making history
Thank you for making history come alive, so sad as it may be. You have put human faces on statistics, and called out my compassion. But not my understanding or forgiving.
My Secret River