Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 5 (October 1914-March 1915).djvu/25

Song of the Little Son When they see me fit my sparkling red-feathered little arrow To my gleaming bowstring. Running on the beach above the glistening bay, For sport, I shake my tall little spear— Ok—Ki! see the great shadows an the sea! Kok-wats-Tyee, old Salmon-Chief, Beckons with his tail all other fishes And dives to the bottom of the world! He fears me! Ki-Ki-Ki-y!


 * Tlet-la, the fisher, calls from his big canoe,

Where my father's twenty tribesmen paddle, "O Leqa-a-ro'q! Little Son! we pray thee, No longer shake thy frighting spear! If thou scare all the salmon from the sea, How shall we eat dried fish when winter dances? Thy tribe will die!" Ai!—the sweet smoked fish! I hide my spear; Once more the sea is full of salmon, Swimming to the fishers' nets. I run among the berry bushes, Crying my fierce "Ki-Ki-y!"— And laugh to see the wild wolves fleeing.


 * See Me! I jump the highest log—

Ki-Ki-Ki-y My stuck-out little fingers pierced the sky! "Leqa-o-to'q!"Who calls? (Ho! 'tis but my trembling mother.)