On their way to old Kentucky a small band
Of a vanishing tribe of furtive Indians attack
A small regiment of haughty British officers
Including two comely daughters of one Scottish Colonel
Who has been targeted by six bloodthirsty Hurons
(Algonquin sadists) on their way to the redoubtable fort.
The three implacable men of whom two
Are battling to be the last standing Mohican
Lead the cold survivors through heavy snow
And granite canyons to the now more porous fort.
Hark, hear six heavy guns, as two unrequited love stories
braid and drone. This is the green threshold of the
howling wilderness on the edge of a new modernity.
The drafty front room defers specific details
But the French and Indian war continues unabated
And another historical poem is badly conceived.