The Navajo woman saw beauty all around
She would weave the beauty she saw growing on the ground
Her Poles staked out and measured to height
on the Upright looms with no moving parts to fight
Her eyes would slowly look
to the subject she undertook
Her hands moved to and fro
A field of Indian paints row after row
dancing in the gentle breeze
With such ease
A fiery red they glow
she sat patiently weaving for hours upon hours
Glancing up and intently studying her flowers
The Indian Paint was her inspiration
To give her vision for her woven creation
