Like the boy that he was br he sat under the tree, br watched the warriors and squaws br and the one called Dundee. br br They were set to attack br at the little Big Horn br on the day he'd come back br and the day he was born. br br He was grown now, a man, br and in awe of all life, br though the blood was Cheyenne br a Comanche his wife. br br As was custom they'd run br at the hour of dawn, br bearing arrow and gun br sharpened tomahawks drawn. br br Like the warrior he was br he sat under the tree, br watching children and squaws br and his father, Dundee. br br Then he slumped to the ground br where he slept like a child, br and there wasn't a sound br in the world of the wild. br br As he slept through his day br not a soul could recall br what old Custer would say br if his soldiers should fall. br br And he dreamed of a cake br in his honour to mark br his own birth near the lake, br so far back, in the dark. br br But, as fate had decreed br when the battle began br a horrendous stampede br killed them all, to a man. br br At the little Big Horn, br where he rested and slept br where the boy had been born br sat a squaw. And she wept.