Her great-great-great grandmother was the first,
An original of the nation, of
Her people, of her village in her youth.
The men were ever awed of this girl child,
Whose mother was proud, and whacked the backsides
Often and hard with a willow switch,
Of man and boy, no matter what their name
Be it Dog, or Bear, or something more rare
Like Hunts Plenty, or Runs Down Enemy.
Nothing came close to the Chief's daughter's name
That came to everyone's voice with the dawn.
And as a young woman, her stride across
The camp in leggings fringed while going through
The pony herd to bathe, and well aware
Of those who would hide in wait, to watch the
Second coming of the sun: her brilliance.
It was she, Morning Star, who flung forth dew
With both hands and arms across prairie grass
Lifting the sun as she cast out the rays
And stepped from the stream to welcome the day.
The artwork is done on MSPaint as "mousework", the image is original, both art & poem done today, 11/10/16, by Jade Pandora.
This piece with preview piece has been entered in a DUP competition.