 | Going-to-the-stars |  |
65
WARMING UP THE MOON
“The moon is too cold,” I said to the Mohawk,
“The creature is dusty and gray.
“And I must sit on this beach all night
“And wait for a dreadful day.”
“The creature is dusty and gray.
“And I must sit on this beach all night
“And wait for a dreadful day.”
So the Mohawk came down from his tent in the north,
And built me a fire on the sand
Of live-oaks and straws and of Spanish moss,
And of gems from a ring on his hand;
And built me a fire on the sand
Of live-oaks and straws and of Spanish moss,
And of gems from a ring on his hand;
And seven hairs from his black coarse braids,
And an eagle plume from his war bonnet high.
And the fire turned a wonderful red,
And he took down the moon from its shelf in the sky—
He shoved it deep in the red-hot bed—
“Now there is your moon,” he said.
And an eagle plume from his war bonnet high.
And the fire turned a wonderful red,
And he took down the moon from its shelf in the sky—
He shoved it deep in the red-hot bed—
“Now there is your moon,” he said.
| Going-to-the-stars | |