Pioneers

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
They met in Independence,

Each with a tale to tell, fit for a pen.

These farmers, their wives, and children.

Eyes bore westward, all filled in fear.

Had the mistake been made,

Submitted: March 24, 2007

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Submitted: March 24, 2007

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They met in Independence,

Each with a tale to tell, fit for a pen.

These farmers, their wives, and children.

Eyes bore westward, all filled in fear.

Had the mistake been made,

Leaving all they had held dear.

They rolled in a line, prairie sails of white.

A long slow dangerous journey,

Stopping only at night.

Missouri Jayhawkers, Kansas storms,

Using each other’s traits,

To keep them from harm.

They fought indians, deceases, their children died.

Hardship welled in the daylight,

At night the women cried.

Foothills in Colorado, they all stood in awe.

They had to surmount the mounts to their fore

The snows would soon come, for it was in the fall.

Many stayed around Fort Lymon and such,

Others went on, wagon wheels cutting ruts.

Through the passes, they made their way,

The snow drifted high, they couldn’t stay.

They made it through to Brigham’s land.

Only to be faced with miles of alkali sand.

Days without water, An eternity of poisonous sand,

Bravely they marched on, ever searching for a promised land.

Some settled in California, Others in Oregon.

Others traveled northward, as long as the beaches went on.

This is a tale of pioneers, people with sand in their craw.

Where are they today, when our Nation begins to fall?


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