Classic Poem

Six foot two in his moccasins,
Stately, unbowed with age,
Eagle Bull came down the sun-parched street,
And I questioned the old Osage.

For the drouth was sore in the country.
“When will it rain? Can you say?”
He nodded. “Rain pretty soon,” he said,
“Hoot owl holler in day.”

But the days went on and it still was dry,
And I said to the chief, “Oho!
What about rain?” “I mistake,” he said.
“That was young owl. He don't know!”