"Don't steal my motif!"
cried the Indian chief
with a feather tucked into his hair.

"It's mine to command,"
said he, waving his hands,
in discomfiture and in despair.

"The chirping is mine,"
he screeched like an anserine,
stomping his leather-clad feet.

"So leave me my birds,"
the chief then concurred
and danced to his Indian beat.