"Running Deer"

Tall prairie grass whispers
to gentle wind, its friend,
“Running Deer was here.
She ran until the end.”

“I know,” sighs wind,
“I blew across her brow.
I tangled up her hair.
I sense her absence now.”

Black earth hears this
and cannot help but say,
“She was light and swift,
and I supported her each day.”

“How sad,” cries grass,
“That she won’t run and play.”
“She’ll run,” says wind,
“She just won’t run our way.”

Author's Note

They called my grandma, "Running Deer".