Powwow

The native American and the paleface Each claiming ownership over the place For three hundred years they’d been fighting the fight But peace would be parleyed later that night Senators; soldiers; a chieftain or two Agreed to talk peace by a moon that was new Privates stood guard ’gainst rebellious gun In the Comanche camp at the down of the sun My orders were only to tend the camp fire There would be no talking if it should expire No parley, no peace-pipe, no fun and no frolic It seemed that the fire was somehow symbolic Alas I slipped up and the fire went out I looked for more wood, there was nothing about I stared at those grey lifeless ashes, agog But then I laid eyes on that one massive log Well I had been schooled but I didn’t learn If - smothered with paint - wood can still burn It’s something I really knew little about But did know of only one way to find out I chopped it and sawed it and relit the fire I’d managed to stave off the Comanche’s ire I felt pretty smug having just saved the day And smiled as the Comanche chief came my way Paleface, he said, you watch ancestral flame It is, like our Totem Pole... sacred the same To Comanche, fire is the heart and the soul Well I had to ask... Totem pole???