you're pretty my dear
make small talk ~ why yes sweet cheeks
too long make shorter
White feather was warned Crow Squaw was insane
Crazy in the head, some said
Speaks tongues, think it’s from Father Sky
He had never met her before today
The day he died
But came back to life
After she found him on the battlefield
And found a tiny pulse
She took him home and nurtured him
In the old ways
The ways of the ancestors
The ways of Father Sky
He never let anyone say unkind things about her to him again
A survivor who recognized the magic healing in her hands
And the empathy in her heart
You wear your feathers proudly like a tribal chief.
However, the things you do cause your better half’s grief.
You gamble away the wampum that was meant for groceries.
That money can’t be picked as if it grows on trees.
Other females are taken in as if they were refugees.
How many nights have you spent in other tepees?
You load up with fire water until your head starts to spin.
That’s enough to make your woman’s patience to be thin.
You had better start running faster than Rin Tin Tin.
She will come after you with a barrage of artillery.
Nothing will save you. Not even the U. S. Cavalry.
Can’t you see that her skin is turning red?
When she catches up to you, she will bust your head.
My Indian Squaw is a beauty.
Keeping me happy is her duty.
But an Indian giver in every way.
When I try to get her to play.
She turns up her nose and acts very snooty!
*For PD's Indian giver contest.