Pocahontas

Words flow quickly from her singing mouth,
as her hair was carried by a soft breeze.
“You think you own whatever land
you land on, the Earth is just a dead
thing you can claim.” As Englishmen
took over her home, all she has ever known.

A land beyond her, she does not know.
Wise stories, told from the mouth
of her dear father. The Englishmen
have taken over, and he must keep her safe. Not a breeze,
quite challenging indeed. To find her dead,
throughout this vast land, his biggest fear.

This is their home, their land.
Not by law, but she knows.
Every man knows. Any man to walk this land is dead.
A dead man he is, and one if wise words fall from his mouth
and carry from a heavy, violent wind, to a soft breeze.
Run quickly past her ear. The words of the Englishmen.

They have come for gold, the Englishmen.
They have come from far away. A land
unknown to her father and her. A ship carried on a breeze
from an unknown world. Barely undiscovered, known
by all of Europe. Civilization advanced, word of mouth
does say. Yet, they want these men dead.

To shoot a sharp arrow, and to kill a man,
diminish any hint of their trail, an Englishman.
To shoot a bullet, from the mouth
of a gun. A battle to save their beloved land.
If only they listen and hear, they could know,
they are safe. Calm as a gentle breeze.

A whistle to be carried on that breeze.
Her father, must keep her safe forever. Almost dead,
John looks at her, her olive skin, and dark hair. She knows
this innocent man, this Englishman.
He does have a home, his homeland.
A kiss gently falls onto his mouth.

She does know her land,
her home is all that is important. Englishman, not dead,
their mouths, can agree, carried by a soft and gentle breeze.

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