There in that limited pasture,
Their eyes bedimmed and blurred,
They stand in that prison, all captives,
The last of the Thundering Herd.
Of the thousands that dotted the prairies,
These are all that remain.
The echoes of millions of pattering feet
Forever have gone from the plain.
Of the thousands and thousands that herded
Answering nature’s call,
Migrating North in the Springtime,
Wandering South in the Fall.
Crossing the snow-covered mountains,
Leaping their treacherous seams,
Fording the riotous rivers,
Spanning tumultuous streams.
Roaming at will o’er the prairies,
Care-free, and seeking no goal;
A few falling by the wayside,
The wolf or the Indian’s toll.
Then came the white man westward,
Stealing the land of their birth,
Begrudging an unharrassed moment,
Annihilating them from the earth.
They were madly, tirelessly hunted,
Ruthlessly, wantonly slain;
‘Till their white bones gleamed in the sunlight
And their carcasses dotted the plain.
And here are the last of the bison–
Oh, God, but it seems so absurd!
A black page on the history of mankind–
The Last of the Thundering Herd.
(Curley Fletcher)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, God Poems, Birth Poems, Mankind Poems, Goals Poems, History PoemsBased on Keywords: ruthlessly, dotted, spanning, herded, wantonly, carcasses, bedimmed, snow-covered, tirelessly, care-free, migrating