Deep within the misty woods
I sit upon my damp stump
contemplating the mysterious
ways of my ancestors.
I see in my mind's eye the
smoky flames rising to the sky,
and hear the eerie chants carried
hauntingly upon the still night air.
I feel the rhythmic beat of the drums,
and imagine the frenzied prancing of
the brightly painted warriors around
the blazing fire.
I smile contentedly at the thought of
what they have given me, and raise my
canteen in a silent toast to their spirits,
and wonder what the world might be like if
the white man had just left them to their
own ways.
Donavon Scott Vinson
