Harvesting colors of the wind

Her hair, was two, silky,
raven black cornrows
flowing down her slender back,

in her eyes, you could find
two whole blue corn moons,
and a grinning bobcat of stars

twinkling, in the blanket of night sky,
a trembling reflection on the sleepy,
shimmering lake,

her skin was copper
and cinnamon flavored,
rich and a glow with delicate
pain markings, perfect round droplets
of blue and red ink,

a flora fauna princess with
a crown of blossoming flowers
garnishing her jeweled head,

a majestic, flowing cloak of
a rampant bear, wrapped around her
proud shoulders,

her cool, adventurous feet,
would walk to the ends of the earth
leaving a trail of lightly treading,
small footprints among larger ones,

for she cupped up handfuls
of the rich, dark soil,
and marveled at the shine
of a cherry red sun,

she sang with all the voices
of the mountains,

and painted with
all the colors of the wind,

and never thought to ask for more,

she threw herself over his rugged,
worn self, and asked for his life
to be spared,

blinking down crystalline tears,
swiveling in a fresh, pure, soft
innocence that brought mankind to bay,

and then she reached up
and harvested her ripe fruits,
to nourish his kind.

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