White Owl
I Ima Ryma
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White Owl, my mother, was prepared
To make her journey into death.
It was her time she had declared.
She struggled so with earthly breath.
So as the tribe left to go forth,
Southward to make the winter camp,
White Owl stayed in the valley north,
Upon her, snows fell thick and damp.
That was my last sight of her seen.
Then with the others, I went on.
This was my people's way between
Leaving the dusk for a new dawn.
From the valley where was White Owl,
I heard the sounds. The wolves did howl.
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