The Indian Sign

The Indian Sign prose poem

Photo by Calsidyrose

The town is known as Williamsville; It’s just a tiny hamlet,
with one small green, on one small street with only seven houses;
but long ago was home to Indians, their children, and their spouses.
In honor of this peaceful tribe, a sign of them was painted;
it showed a Chief with bow in hand, like ones that we’re acquainted.
The sign stood firm for many years, and was the town’s proud treasure;
its value as a prized antique was one that had no measure.
One late dark night in early spring, the sign was quickly taken,
and when the folks all learned the truth, they were so badly shaken.
The folk grew sad as time went by, and some lost all their hope,
until a plan was made one day, of quite a different scope.
The plan was such that all the folk would meet upon the green,
and offer prayers to ONE above, kneeled down, and quite unseen.
Their prayers were said for hours long, with just a single thought,
that he who took the sign from them, would feel the hurt he wrought.
Some days went by, and jokes were made, and many thought if foolish,
and even more than that mean act, some even felt it ghoulish.
Until one foggy early morn when sun returned good light,
there lay the sign upon the posts, dropped off within the night.
The folk all gathered once again, relieved from sadness and their cares,
and offered thanks to ONE above, who answered all their prayers.

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Warren P Padla

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majored in journalism at NYU in the 50s; received my masters in business from there and worked for Equitable Life in NY for many years. When retired entered antique business and real estate; retired to Massachusetts and Florida; currently do a lot of volunteer work. Friends forced me into poetry due to much writing I had sent to them over the years. So I joined High On Poems. the end, warren
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Preeti
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The power of prayer…so subtly described in this poem:) Wonderful, I say!

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