The children screamed before the guns at Sand Creek under autumn sun while the death song of White Antelope rang out across the sand, “Nothing lives long except the earth and the mountains.”
It was the only end could come from those who followed fife and drum across the grasses waving through the miles of open land. “Nothing lives long except the earth and the mountains.”
They only saw with blinded eyes an old man who seemed so unwise to stand where soldiers’ raging guns would press him to the sand. “Nothing lives long except the earth and the mountains.”
Their eyes were blind; they could not know the truth White Antelope would show, as he sang clear and loud across the miles of open land, “Nothing lives long except the earth and the mountains.”
Their own fate and their children’s lives were predetermined by that strife to be a cry for peace destroyed by blood stains on the sand. “Nothing lives long except the earth and the mountains.”
