Chief Pontiac Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A chief named Pontiac, brave and bold,
Of the Odawa people, a story to be told.
Born when the leaves were turning gold,
He saw his land, a tale of old.

Tribes together, a mighty hand,
Odawa, Ojibwe, across the land.
Potawatomi, they took their stand,
From great lakes north to southern sand.

With French allies, they fought the fight,
Against the British, with all their might.
But wars would end, and futures blight,
As rulers changed, and day turned night.

He saw the harshness, the taking of ground,
New rules for all, no peace could be found.
So Pontiac rose, with a determined sound,
And stirred his people, all around.

In sixty-three, a sudden strike,
Eight forts they took, it was alike
A storm they brewed, a fearsome hike,
Against the redcoats, what they did like.

His stand so strong, a powerful plea,
The King looked west, across the sea.
A line was drawn, for all to see,
'No settlers here, let the land be free.'

Then peace he sought, a treaty signed,
With Sir William, leaving strife behind.
But anger lingered, a different kind,
Near Cahokia, his end did find.

A Peoria warrior, with a bitter blow,
Pontiac's life, it had to go.
But his spirit lives, a seed to sow,
A chief who fought, for all to know.