Her Place

The charge for war was never hers,
but the one of peace - she wore with pride.
Her ribboned shirt and sequined skirt
were enough that they would hear her side.

The women knew their purpose well,
were given to strength - the blood of clan.
They held the farm, the fields, and home -
while right of war and hunt were man's.

The wares of peace - she held them close
e'er the tribe would fade without her breath;
would pass away - their truth to tears
and mark the trail succumbed to death.

Each son was born and given paint
but through her hands - the light was passed,
and while the times have surely changed,
some speak still now of boundries cast.

Twas then and still it is today
that the tribe would trace back to her blood -
and grieve for days her hair was shorn
in bleeding for the loss of love.

© Copyright 2007 Tornado Day (UN: tornadoday at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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