Native Essence

Daughter of the Dawn

Feathers whisper where spirits breathe,
She stands between what was and will be.
Moonlight woven in her hair’s long braid,
Songs of the Earth in silence laid.

The horse behind, a shadowed flame,
Echoes softly her ancient name.
Her eyes—two rivers, calm and deep,
Where dreams of her people wake from sleep.

From dust and dawn her soul is spun,
Blessed by wind, by sky, by sun.
In her stillness, worlds align—
A sacred thread, the Great Design.

Keepers of the Flame

Three daughters of dawn in embered hue,
Wrapped in the fire the ancestors knew.
Their faces calm as the moonlit stream,
Their hearts alight with a silent dream.

Crimson breath of the sacred flame,
They walk the path where no one names —
The trail between the dusk and day,
Where spirits whisper what stars can’t say.

The owl, pale guardian of the night,
Carries their prayers in wings of light.
Its eyes behold what time forgets,
The birth of truth, where sun and soul have met.

They are the keepers — the flame, the song,
Holding the earth where hearts belong.
Their robes are woven of sunset’s tears,
Of mothers’ courage through endless years.

Purple shadows fold and blend,
Where life and death no longer end.
The fire within, the owl above,
Sing softly — Wisdom is made of love.

O sisters of spirit, ancient and free,
Your silence is the breath of eternity.
And in your gaze, the world can see —
That roots and wings are one decree.