The pipes had been smoked <br />Our chief, Black Kettle <br />Had spoken <br />The White Man could be trusted <br />Surely <br />No harm would come <br />She thought <br />Cradling her baby tight <br />Looking up only briefly <br />The tepee flap opened <br />A blue-coated soldier <br />Sword swinging at her neck. <br /> <br /> <br />(Previously published in Poets4Peace, Nov.2000)<br /><br />Laurence Overmire<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sand-creek-1864/
