THE LITTLE PIUTE

UP in Winnemucca in Piute land, Where the hot sun falls on the sage-brush sand, A little papoose in a basket lay, Fat as a badger and ready for play.

Mahali was proud of the way he grew Upon acorn soup and on pine-nut stew; She caught him a lizard and let it wiggle, Which set him off in a Piute giggle.

But the brush hut is lonely, for father’s not there; In ghost-land he’s hunting the bison and bear. Soon you will follow; alas—too soon, As your clan moves on toward the setting moon!