Caves-N-Arrows Poem by Smoky Hoss

Down in my 'man-cave', what our fathers
would have called a 'den'
(is not a den a cave
for the loner bear
to sleep away the winter-blues in?)
there hangs high,
in precise reverence,
an old Shoshone war arrow.
The original arrowhead, along with the ancient peoples,
is long gone.
I've replaced it with one made of
beautiful RED sandstone
that I found on a hike deep
into a mysterious canyon
in southern-Utah.
- The Shoshone come from
the wilds of Wyoming territory;
my arrowhead may be
of the Ute tribe,
or the Navajo,
perhaps even -though doubtful-
the mighty-mystery
of the Anasazi.
- I hope the Shoshone don't mind
my mingling of one of their designs
with that of another distant tribe.
- And I. What am I?
Neither Shoshone, nor Ute,
nor Navajo; I am no Hopi,
and not Anasazi. But, I am
the grizzly chief of my cave,
for now... and I do have the arrow,
and the arrowhead.
- At last,
the nations have come together,
in peace, united
in a common cause:
fighting off the cold blues
- with one arrow -
in a bear's cave...