The sun it
s t r e t c h e s
orange and yellow fingers
as it grips the earth,
in warming glows
that linger
sustaining all
the tiny life below
that scurries
in a frenzy
to and fro,
tranluscent bugs
and creatures
gathering seeds
all manner of beast
nourishing thier needs,
as tribes of people
yawning all emerge,
from bear skinned warmth
to spark the fires hearth
metallic noise and
children's eighth note
ascend to the
Great Spirit far above
who hung for them
this yellow orb of love
Thus day begins
once more
as women bend
to bang the skins
on rocks
and then to tend
to smoking meat
and feeding
tiny babes,
while hunters head
into dark woods
to find,
the needed kills to
keep the season kind.

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