Florida's Foreverly Shores
~Marge Tindal~ 1999
Cold the winter wind did blow.
Colder still the night.
Wrapped in blankets oh, so thin ...
giving bare warmth to their flight.
Samuel's father died in the stockade
where the Cherokee were herded like cattle.
It wasn't Samuel's fight ...
it wasn't even his battle.
A mother wraps her nine year old,
and holds him to her soul.
She imparted the warmth of her body ...
but by morning her body was cold.
He was too young to understand,
when taken from her arms.
"Mother, mother", he cries,
He does not understand the harm.
Buried in a shallow grave
along the trail they were forced to walk.
He left the place where they had laid,
and no one wondered why he didn't talk.
Taken were his father and mother
in the cruel march to the west ...
he would recall the story later,
as only he could do best.
Is it no wonder
the tears still flow today?
What was taken from Samuel Cloud
can't be given back or forgotten.
I know, I know ...
you were not there.
The events were not of your making.
But tell me please if you can ...
what was gained by the taking?
Land ... land,
that's what it was about.
It makes me so darned angry.
It makes me want to shout.
But to shout would do no good,
I could holler not once, but twice.
It wouldn't do Samuel Cloud any good ...
he buried his mother and father ...
I would guess he paid the price.
The land was taken
and should be given back ...
it's as simple as that.
The ancestors of Samuel Cloud
have a right to the land
that cost them much more than
the price of an acre.
Many moons passed
and he did not forget
with the passing of the moons ...
he returns in his memory and marks the place
and gives this promise to her.
I will tell the story of your passing,
of the way you held me tight.
I will tell so others know
how you left that cold, cold night.
The story will be handed down,
for generations to come.
Samuel Cloud gave his father and mother,
to the spirit of the setting sun.
~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~