Frontier Footprints: A True History of the Rocky Mountains by Amy Kathryn Allen

Previously

…And sunlight dappled every forest glade. The deer, like spirits, moved with silent grace, Unburdened by the fear of time or place. Their gentle eyes, reflecting skies so blue, Knew only peace, and all that nature knew. But now, the echo of a stranger’s tread, A different language, filling me with dread. The white man’s boots, they crush the tender shoots, And chase the wild things from their ancient roots. The forests shrink, the quiet starts to fade, A somber song, upon the wind is played. The deer are gone, their trails now overgrown, And in their absence, a deep sorrow’s sown. The land remembers, though its voice is low, The world I knew, where did it have to go?