Somewhere in the Mountains

The American woke
His fire crackling in the cold air
A figure, pottering about in the fog.

And then a musket coughed
Flame and led through the night
And the figure slopped into the mud.

Somewhere in the mountains
A hunter yipped, his barrel smoking.
He’d shot a native who brought only gifts.

And a million more would follow.

4 thoughts on “Somewhere in the Mountains

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