Classic Poem

Just over there where yon purple peak,
Like a great amethyst, gems the brow of the Desert,
I sprawled flat in the bunch-grass, a target
For the just bullets of my brown brothers; betrayed
By politicians hugging to their bosoms votes, not justice.
I was a soldier, and, at command,
Had gone out to kill and be killed.
This was not majestic.
The little grey gophers
Sat erect and laughed at me.
In that silent hour before the dawn,
When Nature drowses for a moment,
We swept like fire over the smoke-browned tee-pees;
Their conical tops peering above the willows.
We frightened the air with crackle of rifles,
Women's shrieks, children's screams,
Shrill yells of savages;
Curses of Christians.
The rifles chuckled continually.
A poor people who asked nothing but the old promises,
Butchered in the dark.
The dawn would not linger,
Nor the slow-advancing day refuse to come
Because a great Power butchered a weaker people.
To the Sun that was an old story.
He did not hesitate to shine on the beasts
And birds because man is contemptible.
The larks saluted the morn
As if there had been no murder
But in the accusing light of the infallible Sun
It was not good to see brown boys and girls
Scattered about the grass in Death's repose;
On their sides, in reckless weariness;
On their backs, arms sprawled out carelessly,
Or drawn over their eyes, as if to shut out the light.
Nor was it pleasant to see the fearful gate-way
Made by a bullet in the just-budding maiden-bosom,
Whence startled Life had leaped to search the void;
Chubby babies, with a blue bullet-hole
In the innocent breast, the soft little belly
And mothers whose bosoms ran blood with the milk.
They lay quiet in great dignity;
Their eyes staring at us indifferent;
Almost contemptuous.