The Indian

In a vally, so deep and narrow. We find the indian, him and his bow and arrow. Where waters which flow in a steady current. Cover the rocks and the stones, which forever flourish. Bucks and buffalo cross this channel. Easy prey, for the bow and arrow. On this dark dim dusk filled day. We find the indian, him and his easy prey. He pulled out his arrow. Rosined up his bow. Drew back hard. Kept his hands down low. He fired his arrow. It flew through the air. There lie the buffalo; and the indian, who didn't care.. Indian Poem By Kim Robin Edwards Copyright 1985,2015..ALL rights reserved..