To preserve this day, I pick red plums wild <br />Within my soul, I dream a while <br />A vision ancient, to me smiles <br />Of plums growing wild in thickets dark <br />There for taking by man or lark <br />Beside running water where beavers bark <br />I hear the drums for miles <br /> <br />Smoke signals lifting high in sky <br />On summer's breeze they drift and sigh <br />Indian village steals my eye <br />Women gathering, pounding, grinding <br />Saving fruits of summer ending <br />In cakes for winter's cold day feasting <br />'Round evening fires, high and dry <br /> <br />Painted ponies heading west <br />Hunter's talismans cover chests <br />Put their knapping skills to test <br />Not one willing to be the lag <br />Arrow drawn to down his stag <br />Rights this night will be to brag <br />Whose spear point flew the best <br /> <br />Allegiance to 'Great White Father' sworn <br />Many moons later, treaties torn <br />Their ways, their days, their hopes forlorn <br />For wild plum cakes and venison stews <br />Thought safe in tepees 'neath cold skies blue <br />Sore gleaning here in peaceful view <br />For them I shall forever mourn <br /> <br />While picking I shall forever mourn<br /><br />Barbara Attaway<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/red-plums-wild/
