Here is a poem given from a Native American elder.  The poem is in the form of a story handed down from generation to generation, the kind of story an elder would tell to a young girl or boy whose own life depended on the question, What do I do when I am lost in the forest?  David Wagoner, the chair of poetry at University of Washington, renders it here in English.  The poem is called “Lost”

Lost

Stand still.  The trees ahead and the bushes beside you Are not lost.  Wherever you are is called Here,

And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,

Must ask permission to know it and be known.

The forest breathes.  Listen.  It answers,

I have made this place around you,

If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.

No two trees are the same to Raven.

No two braches are the same to Wren.

If what a tree or bush does is lost on you,

You are surely lost.  Stand still. The forest knows

Where you are.  You must let find you.