Indian Paintbrush
The Navajo women saw beauty all around
She would weave the flower she saw growing on the ground
Her poles were staked out and measured to height
On the upright looms, no moving parts to fight
Her eyes would slowly look
To the subject, she undertook
Her hands moved too and fro
A field of Indian paintbrushes row after row
Dancing in the gentle breeze
With such quiet ease
A fiery red they would glow
putting on a beautiful show
She would sit hour upon hour
Glancing up briefly to examine her flower
The Indian Paint her only inspiration
That gave her vision for her woven creation
