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WOODEN INDIAN

Where the coyote bark, and the wild wolves howl.
Deep in the forest, where the groundhogs prowl.
A sprout pushed through the dirt and broke
The soil, and grew into a mighty oak.

It saw the destruction that got out of hand
As they pushed the Indians from their cherished land.
The Oak was sad for the tragic deed
And wished he'd never even been a seed.

But a seed he was and an Oak he became
He had watched the Indians hunting for game.
The animals came and began to gnaw
On the mighty Oak and left him raw.

But he said not a word as they chewed away
Little by little day after day.
With a little bit of magic the animals did good
For there before them stood an Indian of wood.

A white man felt sad for the Indian's fate
And passed by the woods one night rather late.
He held his breath in awe and wonder
At the sight he saw neath the lightning and thunder

A wooden Indian carved from a tree
So he brought it home for us to see.
And it stands on the porch at the local general store
And dreams of the buffalo and the days of yore.

©Yvonne G. Bowman  September 10, 2006