I O Shaman Shaman With cold penetrating breath Having been pushed to the edge Will you reveal a chilling death? II Was the fiery orb heaven sent That caught the eye of a confused Eskimo As it catapulted out of the sky Deep into a receptive bank of snow? It did not fall on Manhattan Island Or congested west coast freeway, But in the “uninhabited” north Out of civilization’s and harm’s way. We tell the Eskimo Of the poison which was, But is not. . . Although the nausea experienced Can hardly be forgotten. III With forces amassing in the distant north The Shaman’s igloo is silent no more. . . Arriving in a steady stream The gods of Nature quietly discuss Their hopes and fears, While awaiting full assembly And the eminent vote to determine Whether our violation of Nature Is to signal their Declaration of War.