I will not lay down my burden.
I will not cry 'til we reach the setting sun.
Two moons ago my baby breathed his last,
And the cold has seeped into his bones.
He joins my mother and his older sister there,
Both laid to roam so far away from home.
I will not lay down my burden.
I will not cry 'til we reach the setting sun.
The dying light will bring a call to rest,
And they will try to pry him from my arms.
I will stand straight and still, a statue for a soul.
They may as well throw me into that hole.
I will not lay down my burden.
I will not cry 'til we reach the setting sun.
Great Spirit, hear my silent, screaming pleas.
I pray you hear our cries beneath this dome.
Our souls are scattered now, like seeds in the wind.
May they rise up in rose straight to home.
I will not lay down my burden.
I will not cry 'til we reach the setting sun.
Copyright © Jo R. Hawke. All rights reserved.
