(A Poem by Alicia Whittaker)
The reflection on the water today
is not the usual scene.
There is something missing
from the view that I use to see.
For many years she cried for help,
and no one ever heard.
The lonely cries of two hundred years
fell without a word.
She was on her knees that day
praying someone would see.
She gave her all tried not to fall
as her tears ran down the creek.
On a lonely August day,
when no one was around,
her tears stopped rolling down the creek
as she fell down to the ground.
Maybe she felt abandoned
that beautiful afternoon,
wondering where everyone had gone
who came to see the view.
Oh Lord, is it not Sunday?
Where has every body gone?
Is my time here really over?
Does no one care at all?
For hours she cried out for help
until the day was gone.
She closed her eyes one last time
and knew that it was done.
The silent cries of two hundred years
in a voice no one could hear,
or maybe just stopped listening
to the echoes of the years.
With so much she had to tell us about,
but fell upon deaf ears.
Now the reflection on the water
is just as it appears.
I heard her cries I’ve seen her beauty
standing tall and proud.
I whispered this is not the end
as we stood there by her side.
We will renew what is left in you
to stand again some day.
We want to hear your stories
of all the years gone by
and see your reflection on the water
and feel your humble pride.