The river, slow and moving

the evening as dark as magic

wind whistles through the air

the tall pines dance gently

from side to side

slowly, ever so slowly.

The mountain slopes 

like darkened shadows

the sun hidden below,

like orange rays blasting

like bolts of light across

the river.

Glazed, moving slowly, ever so slowly

one lonely Indian sent ashore

death from a fight

a warrior's might.

Mocassins on his feet

feather in his hair

bravest heart to die

the drums beat...and beat...beat.

Out he goes

slowly, slowly down the river

the lilies follow, green and alive

tall wispy reeds surround,

one match to strike 

fiery blaze to send

one Brave in that infinite place.

The evening gets darker

the pines are still

mountains as dark as giant ghosts,

the river still...

the wolf howls,

and howls

through the night

one single star, so far.

One magical night 

in death's fight with

one lonely Indian.

The wolf howls,

howls,

and howls.

Copyright . Lorna Knox nee Ramsamugh