Drums beat under the crescent moon,
triumphant above cacophonous clangor
in the aftermath of battle cries.
Dust, fog, gunsmoke dissipated over the plains,
unveiled
Custer and his soldiers.
Death claimed the hill.
As a tangerine sunset
sugared cotton candy clouds pink
the crescent moon hung waxing in an endless blue
sea of tears.
Until moonset on the Battle of Little Bighorn,
this celestial body,
distraught with horrors of bloodshed, heartache, and destruction,
looked down upon Custer’s Last Stand,
a helpless spectator at the scene of the crime committed.
This sympathetic witness mourned the mistreatment
of her beloved Sioux and Cheyenne
and knew the consequences of this day’s actions
would seal their fate.
With no way to bestow service or support to her Native Americans,
the crescent moon was left suspended
in her endless blue
sea of tears.

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