John August thou fine native son
Of long forgotten Beothuk trait
Wrenched from mother’s arms by fishermen
In August of seventeen sixty eight

At the tender age of only four years
Near Red Indian Lake of hunting ground fame
And you were raised by agent of Jeffry & Street
A Mr. Child by name

You later captained your own craft
And each fall revisited your people there
Up Trinity Bay and into the interior
To mingle with your kinfolks dear

Later exploited as a curiosity and
Taken by Street to Poole, England by foam
On death at age twenty returned and laid to rest
Back in Trinity churchyard your only real home

And so it seems John, your spirit still
Will haunt these shores from year to year
And properly so for a brave native son
Whose people we remember and so revere

A poem composed from an incident in NL history as a tribute to a little known Beothuk son who was separated from his people at an early age, and taken afar to a strange and foreign land, but thankfully returned to his rightful resting place.
  Submitted By: John Cornick