PLEASE EXCUSE THE WAMPUM
WE'RE FRESH OUT OF BIRCH-BARK

(Celebrating the marriage of our son Andrew to his loving wife, Ruth)

In the ninth moon of the season,
At the noontide of the third day,
When the mist lies on the meadow
And the corn is reaped and garnered,
Comes the tribe of all the Stan Tons;
At the head old Hi-Ya-Father,
Chief and scion of the Stan Tons,
Come to see his second manchild
Bound in marriage to his maiden;
On his arm the tribal mother,
Hi-Ya-Mutha, Gurgling Lagah;
And beside her Nik-O-Tee-Num,
Smoking Cloud, Kom-Pu-Tah Bo-Fin,
With his sibling Wa-Ta-Sma-Sha,
Child of love and happy laughter.

One and all approach the Teepee
Of the Church upon the hillside,
Where with ceremony solemn
All the rites are consummated.
Then they feast among the Beeches,
Feast on wine, and cake, and such like.

So this long and tuneful (?) ditty
Draws at last to its conclusion,
Namely, that we all look forward
To the future ceremonies
Of the offspring still unmarried
And their doubtless numerous progeny,
Adding to the tribe of Stan Tons
And their doubtless golden future,
Barring accidents, et cetera.

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