THE FIRST PEOPLES
Please Allow Me To Digress
A very good friend of mine died the year I was born.
His name was Black Elk.
He spoke of looking back from the “high hill” of old age.
And in the simplest of terms and language
He charms all who read his works.
The wild geese of the prairies play a very prominent role in myths and folklore
And especially in the legends of the people of the First Nations.
Wild geese, the elders say, are
Symbolic Messengers between Heaven and Earth.
Indeed, I believe that wild geese may well have been dispatched for the
“Wonder of Man” by the “Great Spirit”.
Trying to think like a majestic Snow Goose, I composed a poem
And it goes like this:
Behold the whiteness of my body,
Behold the promise of my call,
Cunning ones have tried before you,
Testing me daily every fall.
Flock or family, single, pair,
Decoys scattered here and there,
Kites and fliers, socks and rags,
Fool me once, or twice, not more.
In the darkness of the morning,
In the light of evening flight,
Shoreline hunters pound the Heavens,
Up, and up, and out of sight.
I would like to dedicate this poem, if I might, to Black Elk.
A friend I didn’t know.