Beneath the flow of jet black hair
she rose, a flower from a heart-filled place
that graced the cornfields of the Navaho,
the cornfields of the Pottawatomie.
A radiant moon that laughed at life,
a tearful ray that asked for prayers,
a cratered moon that bore the scars,
embracing beams that held us tight.
This light upon life’s waves that crushed
Soul’s soft caress of human ash,
this glow that ruled her female phase,
this gleam that witnessed World’s collapse.
She died upon a starlit night,
in moonlight ere the melt of dawn.
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