By Ruth Margaret
Muskrat
Take
her away, and lay her gently down to rest
Beneath
the cool grey willows that she loved to hold.
And
lay this starry flower on her breast
In
her slim brown hands, so icy cold.
Lay
her where the rippling of the Spavinaw.[1]
Can
lull her dreamless sleep with its incessant song,
Out
where the sunshine, slanting through the leaves can draw
The
flowers from the earth to make her hours less long.
Take
her now, my hours of tryst are over,
There's
nothing else for pain to feast upon,
I
gave her all, and, to her cold grave yonder,
All
light and life for me have gone.
What
a difference now that I was born a paleface,
And
she was Nunih Waiyah, a Redman's child?
She
waits my coming out in that eternal space,
Her
love by Death's cold withering blackness undefiled.