Little Big Horn-poem by Jack Maze

you can still sense it quiet desperation seeping from sage brush you can still hear it the sounds of gunfire the cries of wounded you can still taste it dust raised by horse’s hooves spent gun powder you can still feel it the chaos of battle the dead nearby feel the hopelessness of faulty equipment of no direction sit quietly let the winds wash over you you’ll feel the despair the wind’s incessant but the past is still there trapped in sage and grass rain, sunshine and snow season’s pass, one to another sorrow’s a constant nothing blocks the view the past, the future, both there for those who look Poem by Jack Maze Drawing by Janne Karlsson