As you move with grace Trees bend aside, Birds hover To frame your passing, Tall, arrow-like you move, The earth your guide, Love your bow. As ancient arrows sing to you; Your aura-- golden like the sun Brilliant, dancing, pride-born Out of long long ago. You were the chosen one, Flavored in a chieftain's eyes, A princess, prized, The line lingers still, A golden thread Tying you to those Whose blood you bore. A noble heritage---yours, Truly pure, as the sky, sea and land Upon which your fathers trod, In moccasins designed for Gods.
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