San Pedro's Mummy The Mimerigar Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

In Wyoming's peaks, where shadows lie,
A tiny mummy, caught the eye.
San Pedro Mountains, cold and deep,
Secrets that the earth did keep.

Prospectors found, in sunlit dust,
A little figure, held in trust.
Not a child, nor fairy sprite,
But something feared, in fading light.

The Shoshone spoke of Nimerigar,
Small folk who lived, both near and far.
Not gentle beings, sweet and mild,
But fierce and angry, fierce and wild.

'People eaters, ' their name would say,
They hunted humans, night and day.
Three feet tall, or maybe less,
Strong and quick, in wilderness.

With sharp teeth gleaming, swift and keen,
They wore their goat skins, seldom seen.
Little bows of horn they'd hold,
With poisoned arrows, brave and bold.

Through mountain paths, they'd creep and hide,
Stealing from the villages wide.
Babies gone, and sheep astray,
Darting arrows, ending day.

Their own kind, a cruel decree,
The weak were killed, for all to see.
With heavy stones, a deadly plight,
No mercy shown, in darkest night.

The mummy found, a skull crushed sore,
Whispered tales of ancient war.
But science said, a different way,
Not from Nimerigar's fray.

The tribes united, strong and true,
To chase the Nimerigar through.
They drove them out, from mountain high,
Beneath the vast and open sky.

So San Pedro's mummy sleeps,
While ancient folklore softly weeps.
A legend told, of tiny dread,
In Wyoming's mountains, long since fled.