Post by moonwind333 on Apr 5, 2006 14:17:49 GMT -5
At one point in time, the Cherokee lands covered most of the southeast section of the US, including parts of North & South Carolina, Georgia, the Virginias, Tennessee, etc. Then gold was found in the mountains and (once again) the US Government broke the treaties with the Cherokee. In order to get the gold the Cherokee people were rounded up, kept in forts and camps while the powers that were in Washington decided what to do, then took them on a forced march from the east coast to Oklahoma, about 2253 Kilometers (1400 miles). They started this walk in October and went across areas that are always deep in snow during winter. There were 15,000 at the beginning of the trek, about 11,000 reached Oklahoma where many more died over the next several years. To the Cherokee, this is called The Trail of Tears.
But one of the beautiful legends that came from that tragedy was that of the Cherokee Rose.
When the Trail of Tears started in 1838, the mothers of the Cherokee were grieving and crying so much, they were unable to help their children survive the journey. The elders prayed for a sign that would lift the mother’s spirits to give them strength. The next day a beautiful rose began to grow where each of the mother’s tears fell. The rose is white for their tears; a gold center represents the gold taken from Cherokee lands, and seven leaves on each stem for the seven Cherokee clans. The wild Cherokee Rose grows along the route of the Trail of Tears into eastern Oklahoma today.
And I have always found this poem to be especially poignant.
Cherokee Rose
By Marc McCord
Seven petals for seven tribes
growing on the trail where they cried.
Center of gold for the land white men stole.
Four thousand of my ancestors died.
The trail was long, the journey harsh
crossing a thousand miles of mountain and marsh
and in the place where proud people those
cried the tears that watered Cherokee Rose.
Oh Spirit Wolf, oh Spirit Owl
hear the winter winds that howl.
Oh Spirit Eagle, oh Spirit Deer
why did so many have to die here?
One nation prospered, one nation fell.
One went to heaven, one was sent to hell.
Cherokee Rose that blooms in spring
reminds us of the songs they sing.
White petals, a sign of those tears
that still wet the ground after a hundred fifty years
remind us all of what was lost
from proud people who bore the ultimate cost.
Seven petals for seven tribes
growing on the trail where they cried.
Center of gold for the land white men stole.
Four thousand of my ancestors died.
But one of the beautiful legends that came from that tragedy was that of the Cherokee Rose.
When the Trail of Tears started in 1838, the mothers of the Cherokee were grieving and crying so much, they were unable to help their children survive the journey. The elders prayed for a sign that would lift the mother’s spirits to give them strength. The next day a beautiful rose began to grow where each of the mother’s tears fell. The rose is white for their tears; a gold center represents the gold taken from Cherokee lands, and seven leaves on each stem for the seven Cherokee clans. The wild Cherokee Rose grows along the route of the Trail of Tears into eastern Oklahoma today.
And I have always found this poem to be especially poignant.
Cherokee Rose
By Marc McCord
Seven petals for seven tribes
growing on the trail where they cried.
Center of gold for the land white men stole.
Four thousand of my ancestors died.
The trail was long, the journey harsh
crossing a thousand miles of mountain and marsh
and in the place where proud people those
cried the tears that watered Cherokee Rose.
Oh Spirit Wolf, oh Spirit Owl
hear the winter winds that howl.
Oh Spirit Eagle, oh Spirit Deer
why did so many have to die here?
One nation prospered, one nation fell.
One went to heaven, one was sent to hell.
Cherokee Rose that blooms in spring
reminds us of the songs they sing.
White petals, a sign of those tears
that still wet the ground after a hundred fifty years
remind us all of what was lost
from proud people who bore the ultimate cost.
Seven petals for seven tribes
growing on the trail where they cried.
Center of gold for the land white men stole.
Four thousand of my ancestors died.
