He held her small hand, when her Labor began,
and vowed he would not leave her side;
Soon their first Son, to be named, “Brave One”,
will be born of this Cherokee Tribe.
As an Eagle takes flight, against a blue Sky,
her birth-pains become even stronger;
And as the pain grows, by instinct she knows,
her contraction’s will not last much longer.
The Villagers come, to see the small one,
the first Papoose born of this Spring;
Inside the Teepee, her Brave on one knee,
awaits the Birth anxiously.
She pushes once more, and the infant is born,
a miracle they’ve never seen;
They gaze at their Child, as both of them smile,
now they’re a Family of Three.
Along with his cries, a Deer passes by,
and pausees outside of their tent;
The Animals come, each one by one,
as if they were all somehow sent.
They behold their Son, with eyes full of Love,
for this future, Indian Chief;
He suckles her Breast, while the Midwife says, “Rest”,
to the Princess who now feels complete