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Following is a poem about a Wea Indian Burial Ground in Kansas:


As I approach a hawk escapes an old cedar tree;
a family of deer hastily flee.
Far from a road, at the end of a trail
a burial place of the Wea, their spirits prevail.


a people displaced by man's pursuit of greed,
Their lands taken for unfounded need.
Once again the Wea were removed to a strange land,
Few stayed behind, the Dagenett band.


For more than a century, abandoned except for a few,
its scattered, natural growth gone askew.
Weathered headstones marked the old and those new in birth,
evidence of the people living close to the earth.


Another people have gathered, a people of vision,
to restore its beauty and modify natures invasion.
I feel the spirits looking upon my face,
approving our efforts to dignify this sacred place.



By: White Kyoti


2001, by White Kyoti. IN. ®All Rights Reserved.






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