American Indian Boy's song
fiction
edward w pritchard
Once I ate seven apples in two days,
I was sick and sorry.
Another time a lady at the fort throw two bags of apples away,
because they have spots on sides.
I held Lite lamb as he died
Farmer shoot at us for taking apples from ground,
thousands of apples on trees.
Hundreds of apples on ground.
Lite Lamb bleed slowly to death.
I wrapped lite lamb in my blanket,
light lamb shiver as he bleeds.
Blanket still show blood,
Christian lady at fort wash blanket three times.
I ride fast and chase soldiers now.
Wrapped in blanket I think of Lite lamb before battles.
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