She said her name was Jenny McGee,
Six or seven, I'd guess.
She had a pink ribbon in her hair,
and wearing a blue cotton dress.
She came to me while I was sleeping,
I really don't know why.
When she started telling her story,
She began to cry.
Whether she was a dream or real,
I guess I'll never know.
It was heartbreaking talking to her,
If just a few minutes or so.
She couldn't find her family,
That much I had guessed.
They were part of a wagon train,
Moving to the west.
The wagons were burned, the horses stolen
And everyone was slain
Indians left with many trophies,
From members of the wagon train.
Jenny didn't know where she was,
Or why she was alone.
I explained that she had died,
And In a flash, she was gone.
Over a hundred years ago, Jenny had lived,
But didn't know time had passed.
I hope our little talk gave her peace
And she's home at last.
I wouldn't doubt, from where I am,
And within the distance of my eyes,
There's a small patch of ground,
And that's where Jenny lies.
Willie P.
|
