Ode to Squanto



Up
and
down
he walked and shouted:


Who are these people?
Where do they come from?
Why donít they ask for permission
to dock their ship in my harbor?


They certainly look strange,
if they come one step closer
I donít think I could restrain myself
from sending them back to hell,
where it seems they do belong to.


They look pale, weary, hungry,
they talk so fast
and say words that I cannot understand.


They use some kind of a language
we have never heard before.


The men act quite funny,
their women look shy
and the children look around
with eyes of fear and the desire to cry.


Yes, they do dress so much in black
with those silly looking hats
they truly do make me laugh.


They also brought a religion,
customs, will power and songs
for someone they call their God.


I do not appreciate that!
Nor I have to give a damn.


I simply cannot believe
this is happening to me
while in my own land
I breatheÖ


This is crazy, so bizarre,
yet Squanto* thought about it
as he took one step back,
then he smiled taking a chance.


Since that day,
the shoreline of Plymouth Rock
has not ever been the same.
---


* Squanto

was a native American Indian of the Wampanoag tribe in the land we now call Massachusetts. He was an invaluable friend to Europeans settlers who arrived in the early XVII century.


© By Emiliano Martin, circa 1996 (Poeta 48@aol.com)







 








November Winds

Message From an Oak Leaf

Ornery Critter

Last Leaves of Autumn

Aphorisms of My Humor

The Hick and the Lady

Fall Colors

Enchantment





The New Marilyn's Place is open for visitors. Click the Thumbnail.




Lara's Den has free E-cards.
I make them and offer them to our visitors and authors.
Click the button to access the index.



And.......for many others, click the index image.



Graphics by Marilyn
http://graphicsbymarilyn.com

graphicsbymarilyn@yahoo.com