Crammed in a hole under river embankment,
she waits for the sound of the firing to cease.
Just recent this was but a place of enchantment
with singing of children and warm summer breeze.
Just recent the squaws were all warm in their tepees,
the braves all content by their side unaware.
No thunder of hooves of a cavalry sweeping
the hills with persistent malevolent stares.
No sound of the scream of a soldier in panic
or trumpet that called for disastrous retreat.
No yelling nor slaughter of others satanic
no dirge at the splurge of cadaverous feet.
But only the sun and the clouds and the river,
the trees with their branches and emerald leaves,
the hope of a future that peace would deliver,
harassment that finally forever would cease.
She listens while hidden secluded and silent.
She prays that they fire their weapons no more.
She pleads that mankind feel no need to be violent
as the river turns red with the blood and the gore.
Here is a film based on what happened:
Son of the Morning Star
Here is an article describing the details: