Fergustus Poetry (1)

The wind blew gently through his raven mane,
As he lifted his fallen friend,
The Eagle calls from high above,
Then softly does descend.

The Bison roaming, graze and stare,
For this mighty warrior, they show not fear,
Respect they give and pass him by,
As he hug’s his friend tightly and softly they cry.

The battle is lost; he must now lose a friend,
When will this madness, this violence end?
He calls to his spirits with tears in his eyes,
And feels life depart, as his friend quietly dies.

The Eagle swoops down, with his talons extended,
He must lift the spirit from this life that has ended,
Then carry it back, to where it belongs,
To the company of warriors, their dance and their songs.

A painful cry, broke free from this man,
He dropped to his knees, just too weak to stand,
His heart lay in pieces, in the hot sun and sand,
His grief knows no bounds, for his friend was his son.

Then hearing a cry, from high in the air,
He looks through the tears of his pain and despair,
Two Eagles now soaring, majestic and free,
His sons been returned, as a god of the Cree.

Steve