I paddled and glided along the current Of the St. Clair, To the west bank of the serpentine river, And portaged to the ash tree, Known as Ching-ach-****, Waving noble limbs in full relief, Offering respite from the meridian sun. Leaves fluttered in the north current. Beneath I lay in cold comfort Envisioning the bows and bats that once propogated: The unborn of an endangered species. This is a dead tree growing, Seeds, like Uncas, Rotting above the roots: This native treasure Waiting for the emerald bore Like an imprisoned pagan.
Chingachgook: Character from Last of the Mohicans. Uncas: His son.