Twas a summers day where I gazed from window break,

ominous signs of a block of thought enemy to writers edge.

Gaze once again to the Harlequin the colours of life,

Sun- rise sun- set the days begin and end as the dawn intended.

Knights of the round table attended to the routines they intended,

table is round with no sharp edges just like sun and moon.

Out in the beyond I see hills and rocky mountains crevices and running streams,

I also see a tribe, a civilization not known to me as they work collectively.

Watching as the warriors cut and tear at the prey they have hunted for the village,

their role to share with the village made to the point of honour.

Canoes seen to methodically transport as the only form from one side to another,

the tribe are a form of red Indians of the North of America land of opportunity.