Indian Maiden as Beautiful as the Land

Indian maiden, as beautiful as the land. Indian maiden, your beauty is as endless as the multitude of stars that hang high in the midnight sky—the same stars that nightly kiss the soft grasses of the great plains. It is a beauty that is not of only one, but all ladies of American Indian descent.

Indian maiden, through the annals of history, people have written, quoted, sang, and spoken of the beauty that is the moon. When I get lost in myself and think of that fact, I feel that your beauty, and it is at least a million miles past that. I feel it especially when the moon is full, on a deep and clear summer’s night.

Indian maiden, I say to you, that no other woman could light the match, much less hold the candle to you. Your beauty radiates and permeates my mind, my heart, and my soul.

There is no doubt, beautiful Indian maiden, that your beauty is as pure and timeless as the poems of Yeats, Frost, or even Poe’s masterpiece, “The Raven,” that he penned from deep inside his soul.

Indian maiden, even as you begin to grow old, your beauty is one; one sure to hold for now, for then, and for evermore.

So please, Indian maiden, do not dispute or try to refute these simple words of fact and truth. Be ever so thankful, great indigenous lady, as am I, that the Creator made only one, not two, because he shattered the mold—the mold that cast the image of you; and not just in this life, but in the next life too.

With the utmost pride and respect, I say: Please, beautiful Indian maiden, remember always and remember well, your beauty is without boundaries, without limits, indescribable, unbreakable, unwavering, without fault or shame. It is infinite.