Colin F. Jones


The prairie sky is red,
Now the Indian has fled
And while they lie in pain
The white man lives in shame,
Deceit ripe in his head
For he honours not the dead.
The great chiefs denied their fame,
Whose spirits time can’t tame,
For all the blood they shed,
Throughout the hills has bled,
To leave a lasting stain,
Thus there their souls remain:
For still the warriors ride –
Blessed with immortal pride.

Author’s Note: For you Becky… I shall try to understand, though I must say I do already understand the need for the downtrodden to fight; to keep alive the ‘truth’, and to retain, the great pride one has of one’s race.