The wise old Eskimo

There lived a wise, old eccentric Eskimo

Of course he crafted his igloo from hard packed snow

And he foraged for food from the icy earth below

Well as I have mentioned already, this old man was worldy wise

He listened to truth but ignored any lies

So his honourable trustworthiness was no surprise

When his clan made him their headchief until his inevitable demise

Now this old man was a very fine fellow of a senior sage

Who wrote down his life in verse on many a page

When he taught himself to write at an early age

And he sold his sensational stories to earn a living wage

He lived all alone in solitude

Though this was his choice, his independence was good

Mind you he would enjoy a laugh or two, when he was in the right mood

And invite his companions along from his clan, to share all of his food

My fictional face with yellowish-brown skin

Harpooning his fish like an old Kingpin

Stabbing with precision right through it’s dorsal fin