Memoir

He sits on the bench
From time to time he speaks
Not many understand, he is Navajo
He wears the traditional clothing
And prays to the ancient gods
But it is different
The quiet rustling and rolling hills
Have been replaced by horns and buildings,
He weeps openly
But goes unnoticed by the people
They moved his people
And he is all that is left
To remind the world they existed
After his death there is an unmarked grave
It is the way of his people
It is then they realize they are all gone
But it is too late for anything
All is lost

copyright 2004 © Logan Brown