Flight of The Eagle
He rode like the wind on a coalblack pony,
designs of war painted on his face,
crouching in to the pony’s neck
with a savage cry he set the pace.
His scalp lock braided with fine otter fur,
was tied with flannel of the brightest red,
His war bonnet made of eagle feathers
flowed to the pony’s tail down from his head
Beads on his clothes and gold in his ears
beaver oil glistening on his bare chest,
and the claws of a bear strung ‘round his neck
he led the pack on their savage quest.
As the thundering sound of horses hooves
cut through the air early one June morn
shattered by the chilling warhoop heard
at Adobe Walls, in 1874.
This was the warrior’s role he knew so well,
though always haunted by his white man’s blood;
he lived life proving he was good enough,
for acceptance from Comanche was hard won.
Years later he would heed a prophecy
and follow both the wolf and eagle’s path
to lead his people to the reservation
and leave behind the warriors life of wrath.
And he would end his life a man of pride,
both leader of Comanche, friend of whites,
and on the day Great Eagle called his name
Quanah went to the Great Father with no fight.
oct 2003
© Janet Reid
