Ode to the Wyandottes

Noble Wyandottes
Whose heads rest beneath
The soil of your once proud land
All you have left
Is a small tract of ground
On the street called Minnesota
They cried for your nation while you lived
Now they cry for your nation while you rest
Trying to consume your lasting peace
By their hunger for expansion
You extended you hand in peace
They retaliated with hate
You turned your cheek with trust
And they struck you with lies
They consumed your land
And your land consumed your life
Now they want that soil
That small part of ground
Which holds an everlasting story
What would that small tract
Of land on Minnesota say
If it held the remains of
The early pioneers, and the choice
Of destruction
Was Ours

Note: I wrote this many years ago when the Huron Cemetary in downtown Kansas City, Kansas
Was in danger of being gobbled up by Urban Renewal. Fortunately it was not and still stands.