The Canadian Indian

I am Canadian Indian,

I owe my origins

To the Canadian earth;

Its high and lowlands,

Its short grassy slopes,

And its freezing snowy plains.

I am who I am

Because of its peculiar

Flora and fauna;

The wood cutting

Architect beaver,

The awe inspiring

Decimated buffalo,

The rare and deciduous

Ginseng and the north

American larch.

I was dispossessed

Of my endowed heritage.

Notwithstanding,

I remain who I am.

I am Canada, and

Canada is within me.

The Canadian Inuit

I am Inuit,

I am the offspring

Of Arctic and subarctic

Canada.

The Icy and wintry regions

Are no doubt my traditional

Strongholds.

I inhabit them like no one

Else can.

The igloo is my fortification,

The snow my bricks.

My heritage was stolen,

And still to the depths

I was relegated.

But Canada remains

My identity, and I

Exhibit nothing else

But the Canadian spirit;

The ancestral Inuit spirit.

The dexterous creators of

Molten birds and mammals,

And the age-old marine farmer.

The Canadian Metis

I am metis;

The brood of the conquered

And the conqueror.

I convey your words to

Canada, in a tongue she

Clearly understands.

I always clad the freezing

Stranger,

And I negotiate their transactions.

The hospitality of the

Fridges of Canada is

Impossible without me.

My michif and culture

Are near obliterated by the

Insular imperialist.

But I stand nevertheless

As the melting pot of the

Prestigious Canadian identity.