One eve’ning silent as the sea,

My father sang the song

Of Hiawatha,

To the swelling rhythm

of the Gryllidae;

At a point— I do declare—

So fleeting as the Gryllidae;

When all was quiet

In the poor man’s way;

Then I played on mossy

Sodden logs;

Garb in faded carrhartt;

thin and boney

As the leafless birch;

So I ran shoeless and singing;

Shouting in the graces of the sun

The song of Hiawatha