Fox River Love Song
FOX RIVER LOVE SONG
Sky, rain, wind, and the moon's glory when full,
While yet it sits low to the horizon,
Washing the world in silvery light …
Eyes, lips, ears and hair,
Glorious limbs, the well-defined hand,
Feet with pretty toes...
All Nature's children are beautiful,
Its works abound with care and great love.
But she, she was blessed with beauty, exceedingly so,
The sun himself, though he encountered her often,
He would be caught unawares.
She surprised the sun himself,
Whenever she had come into his presence.
She surpassed all items of creation
Not only in feature and proportion,
But in wit and spirit, too.
Her breasts were full and she wore a long skirt,
Which clung to her hips and girdled her below the belly.
The Whites brought us, the Chippewa,
The Two Books, their sacred wisdom and stories.
Their priests had translated these works into our language,
Then taught us how to read them.
Right off, the people feared that a demon spell
Had been loosened amongst them.
Elders worried for the safety of the children.
These preacher men carried furniture and possessed
Other requisites for them to celebrate their magic,
Yet they were often out of meat and scant of clothes.
The braves had refused to attend Sunday service.
The medicine man said that the two volumes bore a pox.
The moment he touched them, he cast them to the ground.
Her hair was as black as the raven's,
And reached down to her shoulders.
She had her tresses styled in ringlets.
We knew no other force to match her power.
We knew hers was the face,
Which could launch a thousand war canoes at once.
So to honor her the topless sentry towers would tumble,
Her face would level the high fences;
It would vanquish the alien command,
A thick, wood fort on the bank of the River,
A sacrilege to all that was natural and good.
The promise went that once she step out from her tent,
The sun would acquiesce, do her wish,
And burn the invader's barracks.
Fire would justify his great love and devotion.
And were her consort to experience a thousand women,
Have them in his life, she would remain his favorite.
STANLEY PACION's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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