Take A.I.M
Several times within the week
My heart begins to ache,
To the Seneca I speak,
No need here to fake.
Skaneatles, Canandaigua,
Wine surrounds the lakes.
Seneca and Keuka
Are missing native wakes.
No more red-skinned swimmers,
No more birch canoes.
Bare Hill is getting dimmer,
Iroquois are few.
Ganundua is still quite red,
But only once a year.
At other times the nation’s dead,
It always brings a tear.
Iroquois nation will return,
Just look into my eye.
The rage inside the nation burns
We will never die.
Copyright, Doug Stuber, 1975. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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