Overlooked: Human Trafficking of Indigenous People (Not Our Native Daughters)

In the whispers of the wind, a tale unfolds,

Of missing souls, their stories left untold, A haunting lament, through the ages it flies,

Of indigenous women and children, lost in the skies. Mystic breezes carry their names on their breath, Echoing across lands, whispering the depth, Of sorrow and loss, of shattered dreams, Where silence reigns, and justice teems.

The wind's mournful wail, a solemn refrain, For the daughters and sisters, who can't explain, Their vanishing presence, fading like a sigh, Leaving heartache and questions, as the days go by.

Through valleys and mountains, the wind roams free, Searching for answers, for those who cannot see, The faces that are gone, forever erased, Yet their spirits endure, in the wind's embrace.

Oh, wind of compassion, blow fierce and strong, Carry their memories, where they belong, To the hearts of a nation, awakened and aware, To the plight of the missing, the ones left in despair.

Let the wind be the messenger, across the land, To raise awareness, to make a stand, For justice and truth, to break the chains, That bind these lost souls, and ease their pains.

With each gust and breeze, let us remember and mourn, The stolen lives, the innocence torn, May the wind be a beacon, a voice in the night, Guiding us forward, in the pursuit of what's right.

In the whispers of the wind, their voices are heard, Their presence acknowledged, their stories stirred,Together we'll stand, united and strong, For the missing and murdered, until justice belongs.

So let the wind carry our plea far and wide, For healing and solace, for those who have cried, Until every missing indigenous woman and child,

Finds peace and justice, their spirits reconciled.

• L. GreyBull