Title: Real Dream
Writer: Betsy Rodino

When I was young
just a little child,
I had dreams
that were kind of wild.

I'd dream of wagon trains
which were heading west,
I wasn't fearful
because father knew best.

The ride was bumpy
and often long.
The stops we made
were filled with song.

The wagons in circles
we'd stop at night,
Each family together
all sharing their plight.

The attacks began
in the early morn.
They came from everywhere
without a warn.

The wagons were emptied
all hands were used.
There was no discrimination
Indians didn't pick and choose.

The arrows flew
and shots were fired.
The flames shot up
like a funeral pyre.

When it was over
most were dead.
I remember thinking
this is all in my head.

I survived it and
my family was gone.
Why or how?
I was all alone.

I couldn't have been
but three or four,
The dream has remained
for evermore.

Written by Betsy Rodino
Copyright 1993

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