In the land of Patuxet, by the Plymouth shore,
Lived Samoset, a chief, who had quite a rapport.
With Englishmen, he’d chat and laugh and jest,
Samoset, the Abenaki, quite a wonderful guest.

One day in sixteen twenty-one, what a sight to see,
He strolled into Plymouth, as cordial as can be,
Greeting the colonists in their own native tongue,
“Welcome, Englishmen!” from this chief, it sprung.

He’d learned his English from fishermen in the bay,
On Monhegan Island, where they’d often stay,
He knew their captains, masters, and their crew,
A mighty feat, for someone with shared words so few.

He spoke with mirth, a twinkle in his eye,
This Abenaki chief, searching the sky,
He wore a leather loincloth, quite the style,
And had a humorous wit, ready to beguile.

The Pilgrims, they listened with awe in their hearts,
As Samoset told tales of tribes and their parts,
Of the land and its wonders, so strange and new,
And of Patuxet, where all life was few.

Four years ago, the plague took its toll,
Leaving no one behind, no heart or soul,
So the land was empty, as far as could be,
For the Pilgrims to claim if things remained friendly.

With arrows in hand and a bow at his side,
His demeanor was sociable, and he showed no pride,
A tall, straight man, with hair dark as night,
No bushy beard on his face, a curious sight.

He asked for some beer, but they gave him a sip,
Of strong water and biscuit, and food to equip,
Butter, cheese, and pudding, a piece of duck, too,
Samoset feasted well, as Englishmen do.

He spoke of his homeland, far from here,
The land of Morattiggon, he held quite dear,
He’d been in these parts for eight months or so,
A day’s sail with the wind, or five by land to go.

He told of the country, its provinces and more,
The sagamores, their number, and their strength to the core,
But the English colonists’ patience began to wane,
They wanted to be rid of this guest’s friendly reign.

They thought to put him on a ship to depart,
But the wind was too high, they couldn’t start,
So, they lodged him with Stephen Hopkins that night,
Watching him closely, under the soft moonlight.

On the morrow, to the Massasoits he’d go,
His people, he said, were just next in the row.
Sixty strong and more than ready to greet,
Their new English neighbors, they would like to meet.

As for the Nausets, they were a hundred in line,
A fierce tribe, their encounters not benign.
They’d clashed with the colonists, and danger was near,
The tensions were high, their fates unclear.

But the Pilgrims learned much from Samoset’s voice,
Of their neighbors, they now had a choice.
To trade peacefully and live in harmony’s grace,
Or face alone the challenges of this unknown place.

Samoset’s tale is one of surprise,
From a native chief with curious eyes,
A humorous encounter, history’s delight,
As he stepped into Plymouth, that March day so bright.