My red man's arm upheld my spear,
Stampede of buffalo drew near,

There's no escape, this raging horde,
A stream of flesh no man can ford,

Before I die beneath these hooves,
One final thrust, while yet it moves,

I've lost my grip, my strong right hand
Is out of focus, cannot stand...

Lying helpless, await the end,
Faces o'er me smiling bend,

Grinning, speaking banal prattle,
One extends a baby's rattle,

Giant beasts rush in to crush me,
Pallid human faces shush me,

I'm so weak, so cold in here,
My tiny fingers grope in fear,

I must be injured, cannot think,
Staring at my blanket pink,

Oh, to see my children grown,
Hunting with the tribe, my own,

See the geese all flying south,
Rubber nipple in my mouth,

Humiliation, crying loudly,
Paleface couple smiling proudly,

So this is what it's like to die,
My toes a-waving at the sky,

Alas to be so small and weak,
Grown-ups kiss me on the cheek

This child's room is so bright and gay,
My parents love me, day by day...

Growing stronger, lucky me!
Born in the twentieth century.

by D. Edgar Murray