In my youth I listed amongst my friend three young Indian boys
raised near the reservation on the coast of Washington. No better
friends could be found. I remember one occasion dropping by unannounced.
The village of friends came alive. From house to house there came
a feast. Salmon, oysters, clam chowder treats I had never known.
That was how these people treated their guests. So when I heard their
father had died Mom and I went to the funeral. It was pouring down rain.
I say many of my poems were my first but this may well have been. I wrote
it with Mom's lipstick on a magazine in the pouring rain. It is also my
first poem honored and hung in frames. For each brother I am told had it done
special and framed. Year later I was with my new bride. Stopped by my
friends hometown. One of his son's the fisherman still lived there. Called
shore to ship just to let him know I missed him. He told me don't move. I
am coming in. Another instant feast was arranged. No one more impressed than
my bride other than the bear who only writes and does not read./dandy
CHOOCH
There were no tears falling
from this proud Chieftains eye's
A man well known for being
In the village amongst the wise
A dismal day shall it rain
Far into the dark of night
No man should be buried
Least it be in bright sunlight
Drip drip drip--umbrellas held up high
The rain pouring down in a darkened skies
For a cadavuer proud there lays
A man who spread wisdom in his days
So many friends came this day to mourne
This Chiefs pride for the son's he bourne
No longer papooses now men fully grown
The eldest a professor scholary known
Second son had his father's rebellous pride
Somewhere in the world adventures to be tried
youngest a fisherman took his father's trade
In the deepest oceans he would wade
No tears for chooch his perch up high
Proud of his kids no tears falling from his eye
For now they were raised and it was time to rest
The job now finished The coffin resting on his chest
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