By: Ardis E. Parshall - February 16, 2016 Navajo Weaver By Anna Prince Redd For days she sits, intent before her loom,Sapling slim, cross-legged on the sand;The young, hard muscles of her hand,Flint-smooth and brown, wend the shuttle broomIn and out between the warp, and flayThe glowing yarns into a free designOf trees, of rain, and lightning’s jagged line,Tall corn, and sun-god’s arrowed ray. The loom is full; long shadows leave the...
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