 | YON-DOO-SHAH-WE-AH (Nubbins), A Modern Text and Facsimile Edition |  |
14. COYOTE.
Yo-ho, Little Medicine Brother in gray,
Yo-ho, I am list'ning to your call
As it comes from the edge of th' chapparral,
And I wonder, what is that you say.
Now your voice is faint, it sounds far away.
Are you telling of the coming of friends?
Or do you say that the bison-herd wends
Hitherward, is distant but a day?
Now your notes are broken, sharp, and clear,
Warning of the coming of the foe;
Of their warriors and their spears I must know,
And must reckon by your yelps if they're near.
When your tones quaver low like a child,
I know that gaunt famine cometh nigh;
And you shiver on your hummock closely by,
As you scent the grim, gray norther wild.
Yo-ho, I am list'ning to your call
As it comes from the edge of th' chapparral,
And I wonder, what is that you say.
Now your voice is faint, it sounds far away.
Are you telling of the coming of friends?
Or do you say that the bison-herd wends
Hitherward, is distant but a day?
Now your notes are broken, sharp, and clear,
Warning of the coming of the foe;
Of their warriors and their spears I must know,
And must reckon by your yelps if they're near.
When your tones quaver low like a child,
I know that gaunt famine cometh nigh;
And you shiver on your hummock closely by,
As you scent the grim, gray norther wild.
| YON-DOO-SHAH-WE-AH (Nubbins), A Modern Text and Facsimile Edition | |