O Shaman Shaman
With cold penetrating breath
Having been pushed to the edge
Will you reveal a chilling death?
Was the fiery orb heaven sent
That caught the eye of a confused Eskimo
As it catapulted out of the sky
Deep into a receptive bank of snow?
It did not fall on Manhattan Island
Or congested west coast freeway,
But in the “uninhabited” north
Out of civilization’s and harm’s way.
We tell the Eskimo
Of the poison which was,
But is not. . .
Although the nausea experienced
Can hardly be forgotten.
With forces amassing in the distant north
The Shaman’s igloo is silent no more. . .
Arriving in a steady stream
The gods of Nature quietly discuss
Their hopes and fears,
While awaiting full assembly
And the eminent vote to determine
Whether our violation of Nature
Is to signal their Declaration of War.