The little girl was displaced,
Regarded as trash, a scorned race.
The Indian Removal Act,
An ugly governmental fact.
Their ancestral homeland,
The government banned.
West of the Mississippi River they went,
To the designated area now sent.
Exposure, disease, and starvation along the route,
Many more they would simply shoot.
Many died on the Trail of Tears,
A thousand-mile march of anguish and fears.
Barefoot, no shoes or socks,
Huddled together at Mantle Rock,
Waiting for the ferry to cross,
Many died. To the government, no loss.
Somehow, she survived the horror of it all,
A lifetime of anguish she recalls.
The death march called the Trail of Tears,
Still to be remembered through the years.
Man’s ugly inhumanity to man,
That was never what our Creator planned.
