IN AUTUMN

The land around my mother's hoganis big.It is still.It has walls of red rocks.And way, far offthe sky comes downto touch the sands.Blue sky is above me.Yellow sand is beneath me.The sheep are around me.My mother's hogan is near.

The land around my mother's hogan

is big.

It is still.

It has walls of red rocks.

And way, far off

the sky comes down

to touch the sands.

Blue sky is above me.

Yellow sand is beneath me.

The sheep are around me.

My mother's hogan is near.

My mother's hogan is roundand earth-color.Its floor is smooth and hard.It has a friendly fireand an open door.It is my home.I live happilyin my mother's hogan.

My mother's hogan is round

and earth-color.

Its floor is smooth and hard.

It has a friendly fire

and an open door.

It is my home.

I live happily

in my mother's hogan.

The night corral is fencedwith poles.It is the home for the sheepand the goatswhen darkness comesto my mother's land.

The night corral is fenced

with poles.

It is the home for the sheep

and the goats

when darkness comes

to my mother's land.

The cornfield is fenced with poles.My mother works in the cornfield.My father works in the cornfield.While they are workingI walk among the corn plants.I sing to the tall tasseled corn.In the middleof all these known thingsstands my mother's hoganwith its open door.

The cornfield is fenced with poles.

My mother works in the cornfield.My father works in the cornfield.

My mother works in the cornfield.

My father works in the cornfield.

While they are workingI walk among the corn plants.

While they are working

I walk among the corn plants.

I sing to the tall tasseled corn.

In the middleof all these known thingsstands my mother's hoganwith its open door.

In the middle

of all these known things

stands my mother's hogan

with its open door.

My mother is sun browned color.Her eyes are dark.Her hair shines black.My mother is good to look at,but I like her hands the best.They are beautiful.They are strong and quickat working,but when they touch my handsthey are slow movingand gentle.

My mother is sun browned color.

Her eyes are dark.

Her hair shines black.

My mother is good to look at,

but I like her hands the best.

They are beautiful.

They are strong and quick

at working,

but when they touch my hands

they are slow moving

and gentle.

My father is tall.He is strong.He is brave.He hunts and he ridesand he sings.He coaxes the cornand the squash plantsto growout of the sand-dry earth.My father has magicin his finger tips.He can turnflat pieces of silverinto things of beauty.SometimesI hide in the wide foldsof my mother's skirtsand look out at my father.

My father is tall.

He is strong.

He is brave.

He hunts and he rides

and he sings.

He coaxes the corn

and the squash plants

to grow

out of the sand-dry earth.

My father has magic

in his finger tips.

He can turn

flat pieces of silver

into things of beauty.

Sometimes

I hide in the wide folds

of my mother's skirts

and look out at my father.

POSSESSIONS

I have black hair.I have white teeth.My hands are brownwith many fingers.My feet are brownwith many toes.My arms are brownand strong.My legs are brownand swift.I have two eyes.They show me how things look.I have two ears.They bring soundsto stay with mefor a little while.I have two names,a War Namefor just me to knowbut not to use,and a nicknamefor everyone to usefor every day.But with all these thingsI still am onlyone little girl.Isn't it strange?

I have black hair.

I have white teeth.

My hands are brown

with many fingers.

My feet are brown

with many toes.

My arms are brown

and strong.

My legs are brown

and swift.

I have two eyes.

They show me how things look.

I have two ears.

They bring sounds

to stay with me

for a little while.

I have two names,

a War Name

for just me to know

but not to use,

and a nickname

for everyone to use

for every day.

But with all these things

I still am only

one little girl.

Isn't it strange?

I see my father's horsesrunning in the wind.I feel littlestanding herewhen the windand the horsesrun by.

I see my father's horses

running in the wind.

I feel little

standing here

when the wind

and the horses

run by.

Of all the kinds of sheep,Navaho sheepgive the best woolfor weaving.My mother saysthat is whythey are Navaho sheep,because they know bestthe needs of The People.

Of all the kinds of sheep,Navaho sheepgive the best woolfor weaving.

Of all the kinds of sheep,

Navaho sheep

give the best wool

for weaving.

My mother saysthat is whythey are Navaho sheep,because they know bestthe needs of The People.

My mother says

that is why

they are Navaho sheep,

because they know best

the needs of The People.

Goats have long whiskers.They have long faces.They have long legs.Goats are funny, I think.

Goats have long whiskers.

They have long faces.

They have long legs.

Goats are funny, I think.

Now that it is autumn,the lambsthat were babies in the spring,have grown.They are almost as tallas their mothers.My father takes the lambsin his wagonto the trading post.He takes them to sellto the trader.

Now that it is autumn,the lambsthat were babies in the spring,have grown.They are almost as tallas their mothers.

Now that it is autumn,

the lambs

that were babies in the spring,

have grown.

They are almost as tall

as their mothers.

My father takes the lambsin his wagonto the trading post.He takes them to sellto the trader.

My father takes the lambs

in his wagon

to the trading post.

He takes them to sell

to the trader.

Hosteen White Manhas the trading post.He has hard things on the shelf.He has soft things on the wall.And in a jarhe has red stick candythat he keeps just for me.Hosteen White Manat the trading postis such a good man.Sometimes, I forget he is notone of The People.

Hosteen White Manhas the trading post.He has hard things on the shelf.He has soft things on the wall.And in a jarhe has red stick candythat he keeps just for me.

Hosteen White Man

has the trading post.

He has hard things on the shelf.

He has soft things on the wall.

And in a jar

he has red stick candy

that he keeps just for me.

Hosteen White Manat the trading postis such a good man.Sometimes, I forget he is notone of The People.

Hosteen White Man

at the trading post

is such a good man.

Sometimes, I forget he is not

one of The People.

In his wagonmy father drivesto the trading post.He takes the lambsand he takes me, too.He wants me to knowabout selling.He tells me that sometimeshe trades the lambs,and sometimeshe gives them in paymentfor a debt.

In his wagonmy father drivesto the trading post.He takes the lambsand he takes me, too.

In his wagon

my father drives

to the trading post.

He takes the lambs

and he takes me, too.

He wants me to knowabout selling.

He wants me to know

about selling.

He tells me that sometimeshe trades the lambs,and sometimeshe gives them in paymentfor a debt.

He tells me that sometimes

he trades the lambs,

and sometimes

he gives them in payment

for a debt.

This timehe will sell themto the trader.When we get to the trading postthe trader looks at the lambs.Then he tells my fatherhow much he will pay.I wonder if the lambslike to have my fathersell them to the trader.My father sells the lambsfor hard round moneyto Hosteen White Manat the trading post.Then he chooses cans of foodto put into his wagon,and he gives Hosteen White Mansome of the round hard moneyback again.My father calls this selling,but I thinkit is a gamethey play together,Hosteen White Man andmy father at the trading post.My father likes this game of selling.He did not tell me, but, someway,I know that he likes it.

This timehe will sell themto the trader.

This time

he will sell them

to the trader.

When we get to the trading postthe trader looks at the lambs.Then he tells my fatherhow much he will pay.I wonder if the lambslike to have my fathersell them to the trader.

When we get to the trading post

the trader looks at the lambs.

Then he tells my father

how much he will pay.

I wonder if the lambs

like to have my father

sell them to the trader.

My father sells the lambsfor hard round moneyto Hosteen White Manat the trading post.Then he chooses cans of foodto put into his wagon,and he gives Hosteen White Mansome of the round hard moneyback again.

My father sells the lambs

for hard round money

to Hosteen White Man

at the trading post.

Then he chooses cans of food

to put into his wagon,

and he gives Hosteen White Man

some of the round hard money

back again.

My father calls this selling,but I thinkit is a gamethey play together,Hosteen White Man andmy father at the trading post.

My father calls this selling,

but I think

it is a game

they play together,

Hosteen White Man and

my father at the trading post.

My father likes this game of selling.He did not tell me, but, someway,I know that he likes it.

My father likes this game of selling.

He did not tell me, but, someway,

I know that he likes it.

My father sits before his forgemelting bars of silverand turning theminto silver raindropsand silver cloud designs.Somehow,my father has caught the windwithin his bellowsand when he lets it goits breathturns the silverto red earth color.Its breath cools the silveruntil it is hardlike something madeof gray waterand then turned to stone.Today my father sangas he workedat making a braceletfor my arm.His songflowed into the silver circlemaking it a circle of song.

My father sits before his forgemelting bars of silverand turning theminto silver raindropsand silver cloud designs.

My father sits before his forge

melting bars of silver

and turning them

into silver raindrops

and silver cloud designs.

Somehow,my father has caught the windwithin his bellowsand when he lets it goits breathturns the silverto red earth color.

Somehow,

my father has caught the wind

within his bellows

and when he lets it go

its breath

turns the silver

to red earth color.

Its breath cools the silveruntil it is hardlike something madeof gray waterand then turned to stone.

Its breath cools the silver

until it is hard

like something made

of gray water

and then turned to stone.

Today my father sangas he workedat making a braceletfor my arm.His songflowed into the silver circlemaking it a circle of song.

Today my father sang

as he worked

at making a bracelet

for my arm.

His song

flowed into the silver circle

making it a circle of song.

TURQUOISE

Turquoise is sky.Turquoise is still water.Turquoise is color-blueand color-greenthat someonesomewherehas caughtand turned to stone.Sometimes, turquoiseis trapped in silver,and sometimes, in small beadsrunning along a white stringlike beauty followinga straight trail.

Turquoise is sky.Turquoise is still water.Turquoise is color-blueand color-greenthat someonesomewherehas caughtand turned to stone.

Turquoise is sky.

Turquoise is still water.

Turquoise is color-blue

and color-green

that someone

somewhere

has caught

and turned to stone.

Sometimes, turquoiseis trapped in silver,and sometimes, in small beadsrunning along a white stringlike beauty followinga straight trail.

Sometimes, turquoise

is trapped in silver,

and sometimes, in small beads

running along a white string

like beauty following

a straight trail.

My father saysover and over,"It is dry.It is too dry."My father meansthere has been no rainto fill the rain poolsfor the thirsty sheep.

My father saysover and over,"It is dry.It is too dry."

My father says

over and over,

"It is dry.

It is too dry."

My father meansthere has been no rainto fill the rain poolsfor the thirsty sheep.

My father means

there has been no rain

to fill the rain pools

for the thirsty sheep.

I am helping my mothersort the wool.This pile we will keepto spin into yarn for weavingbecause its strandsare long and unbroken.This pile we will sellto the trader.Its strands are broken and short.The trader will buy it,but he will not pay as muchas if it were all long.I wish that all our woolwas of long, unbroken strands.I like to sort the wool.It is good to feel its softness,like making words for somethingmy heart has always known.

I am helping my mothersort the wool.

I am helping my mother

sort the wool.

This pile we will keepto spin into yarn for weavingbecause its strandsare long and unbroken.

This pile we will keep

to spin into yarn for weaving

because its strands

are long and unbroken.

This pile we will sellto the trader.Its strands are broken and short.

This pile we will sell

to the trader.

Its strands are broken and short.

The trader will buy it,but he will not pay as muchas if it were all long.

The trader will buy it,

but he will not pay as much

as if it were all long.

I wish that all our woolwas of long, unbroken strands.

I wish that all our wool

was of long, unbroken strands.

I like to sort the wool.It is good to feel its softness,like making words for somethingmy heart has always known.

I like to sort the wool.

It is good to feel its softness,

like making words for something

my heart has always known.

I go with my motherto beat the wool.We get the little sticksand burrs out of it.We put the woolon a flat rock.We beat the woolwith yucca sticks.I have a little yucca sticklike my mother's big one.It takes my mother and mea long time to clean the wool.

I go with my mother

to beat the wool.

We get the little sticks

and burrs out of it.

We put the wool

on a flat rock.

We beat the wool

with yucca sticks.

I have a little yucca stick

like my mother's big one.

It takes my mother and me

a long time to clean the wool.

I sit with my motherunder the juniper tree.I watch her card woolwith her towcards.My mother's towcardsare flat pieces of woodwith strong handlesand with wire teeth.My mother buys her towcardsfrom the traderat the trading post.With her towcardsshe pulls the wool thin.She stretches it in white sheetslike snow mist in winter.She bunches it in soft rollslike white clouds in summer.Under my mother's towcardsthe gray wool turns white.The matted wool turns fluffyand soft,and light as baby eagle down.I like to sit with my motherunder the juniper tree.I like to watch her card the woolwith her towcards.

I sit with my motherunder the juniper tree.I watch her card woolwith her towcards.

I sit with my mother

under the juniper tree.

I watch her card wool

with her towcards.

My mother's towcardsare flat pieces of woodwith strong handlesand with wire teeth.My mother buys her towcardsfrom the traderat the trading post.

My mother's towcards

are flat pieces of wood

with strong handles

and with wire teeth.

My mother buys her towcards

from the trader

at the trading post.

With her towcardsshe pulls the wool thin.

With her towcards

she pulls the wool thin.

She stretches it in white sheetslike snow mist in winter.She bunches it in soft rollslike white clouds in summer.

She stretches it in white sheets

like snow mist in winter.

She bunches it in soft rolls

like white clouds in summer.

Under my mother's towcardsthe gray wool turns white.The matted wool turns fluffyand soft,and light as baby eagle down.

Under my mother's towcards

the gray wool turns white.

The matted wool turns fluffy

and soft,

and light as baby eagle down.

I like to sit with my motherunder the juniper tree.I like to watch her card the woolwith her towcards.

I like to sit with my mother

under the juniper tree.

I like to watch her card the wool

with her towcards.

My mother's spindleis a slender stickon a hardwood whorl.Under her fingersit spins like a dancer,winding itselfin twisted yarn.Under her fingersit twists the woolinto straight beautylike a trail of pollen,like a trail of song.

My mother's spindleis a slender stickon a hardwood whorl.

My mother's spindle

is a slender stick

on a hardwood whorl.

Under her fingersit spins like a dancer,winding itselfin twisted yarn.

Under her fingers

it spins like a dancer,

winding itself

in twisted yarn.

Under her fingersit twists the woolinto straight beautylike a trail of pollen,like a trail of song.

Under her fingers

it twists the wool

into straight beauty

like a trail of pollen,

like a trail of song.

My hands are not strong enoughto card, very well.My fingers are not swift enoughto spin, very well.But my heart knows perfectlyhow it is done.

My hands are not strong enough

to card, very well.

My fingers are not swift enough

to spin, very well.

But my heart knows perfectly

how it is done.

Now that autumn is here,the flowers and the plantsgive themselves to usfor winter will not need them.The pumpkins are rusty colorwith brown and green patches.They are ripe.Ripe is such a good word.I like to say it.All the plants are ripeand beautiful with colornow that autumn is here.

Now that autumn is here,the flowers and the plantsgive themselves to usfor winter will not need them.

Now that autumn is here,

the flowers and the plants

give themselves to us

for winter will not need them.

The pumpkins are rusty colorwith brown and green patches.They are ripe.Ripe is such a good word.I like to say it.

The pumpkins are rusty color

with brown and green patches.

They are ripe.

Ripe is such a good word.

I like to say it.

All the plants are ripeand beautiful with colornow that autumn is here.

All the plants are ripe

and beautiful with color

now that autumn is here.

Soon my mother will goto the mountainsto gather plants for dyes,and plants for food,and plants for medicine.If I were biggershe would take me with her.She does take mewhen we goto places near the hogan.After heavy frostmy father will goto the mountainsto gather the pinyons.This year he will go without us.He will go with some other menin a truckthat belongs to the trader.My mother does not like this.She thinksmy father should take uswith himwhen he goes for pinyons.

Soon my mother will go

to the mountains

to gather plants for dyes,

and plants for food,

and plants for medicine.

If I were bigger

she would take me with her.

She does take me

when we go

to places near the hogan.

After heavy frostmy father will goto the mountainsto gather the pinyons.

After heavy frost

my father will go

to the mountains

to gather the pinyons.

This year he will go without us.He will go with some other menin a truckthat belongs to the trader.

This year he will go without us.

He will go with some other men

in a truck

that belongs to the trader.

My mother does not like this.She thinksmy father should take uswith himwhen he goes for pinyons.

My mother does not like this.

She thinks

my father should take us

with him

when he goes for pinyons.

With flower plantsand bark and rootsand minerals and waterand fire,my mother changesthe colors of her yarns.My mother puts the dye plantsinto the dye kettleover the fire.Slowly the waterin the kettlechanges its color.My mother puts white yarninto this dye water.She boils it over the fire.She stirs it with a stick.It bubbles and bubbles.It gives a good smelllike plants after rain.For a little timemy mother boils the yarnin the dye water,and then she takes it out again.It is no longer white.It has changed color.

With flower plantsand bark and rootsand minerals and waterand fire,my mother changesthe colors of her yarns.

With flower plants

and bark and roots

and minerals and water

and fire,

my mother changes

the colors of her yarns.

My mother puts the dye plantsinto the dye kettleover the fire.

My mother puts the dye plants

into the dye kettle

over the fire.

Slowly the waterin the kettlechanges its color.

Slowly the water

in the kettle

changes its color.

My mother puts white yarninto this dye water.She boils it over the fire.She stirs it with a stick.It bubbles and bubbles.It gives a good smelllike plants after rain.

My mother puts white yarn

into this dye water.

She boils it over the fire.

She stirs it with a stick.

It bubbles and bubbles.

It gives a good smell

like plants after rain.

For a little timemy mother boils the yarnin the dye water,and then she takes it out again.It is no longer white.It has changed color.

For a little time

my mother boils the yarn

in the dye water,

and then she takes it out again.

It is no longer white.

It has changed color.

In this waymy mother changes the colorsof her yarnsto look likebrown earth in morningor yellow sand at mid-day.She changes the colorsof her yarnsto look likeblack cliffs at sunset,or black like the night,and black like the dark cloudsof male rain.I help to gather the flowersand the bark and the rootsand the minerals.I help to carry the waterfrom the rain poolby the red rocks.I help to make the firewith little twigs.I look and look.I see the water and the plants.I see the yarn in the waterbut I do not seethe magicthat I thinkmy mother must useto change her yarnsto colors.When I tell thisto my mother,she laughs at me.She says she has no magicin her dye kettle.She says the plantsin her dye kettleare the thingswhich give colorsto her yarns.So now,I have learned a new thing.

In this waymy mother changes the colorsof her yarnsto look likebrown earth in morningor yellow sand at mid-day.

In this way

my mother changes the colors

of her yarns

to look like

brown earth in morning

or yellow sand at mid-day.

She changes the colorsof her yarnsto look likeblack cliffs at sunset,or black like the night,and black like the dark cloudsof male rain.

She changes the colors

of her yarns

to look like

black cliffs at sunset,

or black like the night,

and black like the dark clouds

of male rain.

I help to gather the flowersand the bark and the rootsand the minerals.

I help to gather the flowers

and the bark and the roots

and the minerals.

I help to carry the waterfrom the rain poolby the red rocks.

I help to carry the water

from the rain pool

by the red rocks.

I help to make the firewith little twigs.

I help to make the fire

with little twigs.

I look and look.

I see the water and the plants.

I see the yarn in the waterbut I do not seethe magicthat I thinkmy mother must useto change her yarnsto colors.

I see the yarn in the water

but I do not see

the magic

that I think

my mother must use

to change her yarns

to colors.

When I tell thisto my mother,she laughs at me.

When I tell this

to my mother,

she laughs at me.

She says she has no magicin her dye kettle.

She says she has no magic

in her dye kettle.

She says the plantsin her dye kettleare the thingswhich give colorsto her yarns.

She says the plants

in her dye kettle

are the things

which give colors

to her yarns.

So now,I have learned a new thing.

So now,

I have learned a new thing.

When my mother sitson her sheepskin,weaving a blanket on her loomI think it is like a song.The warp threadsare the drum beats,strong soundsunderneath.The colored yarnsare the singing wordsweaving throughthe drum beats.When the blanket is finishedit is like a finished song.The warpand the drum beats,the colored woolsand the singing wordsare forgotten.Onlythe patternof colorand of soundis left.

When my mother sitson her sheepskin,weaving a blanket on her loomI think it is like a song.

When my mother sits

on her sheepskin,

weaving a blanket on her loom

I think it is like a song.

The warp threadsare the drum beats,strong soundsunderneath.

The warp threads

are the drum beats,

strong sounds

underneath.

The colored yarnsare the singing wordsweaving throughthe drum beats.

The colored yarns

are the singing words

weaving through

the drum beats.

When the blanket is finishedit is like a finished song.

When the blanket is finished

it is like a finished song.

The warpand the drum beats,the colored woolsand the singing wordsare forgotten.

The warp

and the drum beats,

the colored wools

and the singing words

are forgotten.

Onlythe patternof colorand of soundis left.

Only

the pattern

of color

and of sound

is left.

My mother took me in her arms.We sat together at her loom.She took my handsto guide themalong the weaving way.She showed them how to weave.We did not weavestraight across the loom.That is not our way.

My mother took me in her arms.We sat together at her loom.She took my handsto guide themalong the weaving way.

My mother took me in her arms.

We sat together at her loom.

She took my hands

to guide them

along the weaving way.

She showed them how to weave.

We did not weavestraight across the loom.That is not our way.

We did not weave

straight across the loom.

That is not our way.

We wove with one colorfor a little way up.And then with another colorfor a little way up.We kept the edges straight.We wove not too tightand not too looseand pounded it down,pounded it down,pounded it.But when I told my father,"See, I wove this blanket,"my mother spoke sharply."We do not saythings that are not true,"she told me.I hid my face awayfrom the sharp words ofmy mother,but soon my mother's handcame gentlyto touch my hair.

We wove with one colorfor a little way up.

We wove with one color

for a little way up.

And then with another colorfor a little way up.

And then with another color

for a little way up.

We kept the edges straight.

We wove not too tightand not too looseand pounded it down,pounded it down,pounded it.

We wove not too tight

and not too loose

and pounded it down,

pounded it down,

pounded it.

But when I told my father,"See, I wove this blanket,"my mother spoke sharply.

But when I told my father,

"See, I wove this blanket,"

my mother spoke sharply.

"We do not saythings that are not true,"she told me.

"We do not say

things that are not true,"

she told me.

I hid my face awayfrom the sharp words ofmy mother,but soon my mother's handcame gentlyto touch my hair.

I hid my face away

from the sharp words of

my mother,

but soon my mother's hand

came gently

to touch my hair.

Rain comes hard and black.It fills the arroyoswith yellow waterrunning in anger.Great pieces of sand bankon the sides of the arroyosslide into the waterwith little tired noisesand are lost for always.The rain pools fill with water,rain water,fresh and clean and cold.

Rain comes hard and black.

It fills the arroyoswith yellow waterrunning in anger.

It fills the arroyos

with yellow water

running in anger.

Great pieces of sand bankon the sides of the arroyosslide into the waterwith little tired noisesand are lost for always.

Great pieces of sand bank

on the sides of the arroyos

slide into the water

with little tired noises

and are lost for always.

The rain pools fill with water,rain water,fresh and clean and cold.

The rain pools fill with water,

rain water,

fresh and clean and cold.

Sun comes nowto comfort the landthat the rain has frightened.My father says,"Sun takes the rain waterfrom the thirsty landback to the sky too soon."But my mother and I,we are glad the sun comes soon.Sun does not meanto rob the land of water.Sun means only to warm it again.

Sun comes nowto comfort the landthat the rain has frightened.

Sun comes now

to comfort the land

that the rain has frightened.

My father says,"Sun takes the rain waterfrom the thirsty landback to the sky too soon."

My father says,

"Sun takes the rain water

from the thirsty land

back to the sky too soon."

But my mother and I,we are glad the sun comes soon.

But my mother and I,

we are glad the sun comes soon.

Sun does not meanto rob the land of water.

Sun does not mean

to rob the land of water.

Sun means only to warm it again.

Today I go with my mother.I go with her to drive the sheepfor I must learn to tendthe flock.It is my work.The way is long.The sand is hot.The arroyos are deep.It takes many stepsto keep up with my mother.It takes many stepsto keep up with the sheep.My mother waits for me.My mother takes my hand.She calls meLittle Herder of the Sheep.

Today I go with my mother.

I go with her to drive the sheepfor I must learn to tendthe flock.

I go with her to drive the sheep

for I must learn to tend

the flock.

It is my work.

The way is long.

The sand is hot.

The arroyos are deep.

It takes many stepsto keep up with my mother.

It takes many steps

to keep up with my mother.

It takes many stepsto keep up with the sheep.

It takes many steps

to keep up with the sheep.

My mother waits for me.

My mother takes my hand.

She calls meLittle Herder of the Sheep.

She calls me

Little Herder of the Sheep.

And so we walkacross the sand.We walktill the day is done,till the sun goesand the starsare almost readyto come.We walk across the sand.We walk to the water holewhen day is at the middle.We walk to the night corralwhen day is at the close,the sheep,my motherand my mother's Little Herder.Before the hogan fire,when night has come,my father sings,my mother whispers,"Come sit beside meLittle Herder."I like that name.From now till alwaysI want to bemy mother's Little Herder.

And so we walkacross the sand.

And so we walk

across the sand.

We walktill the day is done,till the sun goesand the starsare almost readyto come.

We walk

till the day is done,

till the sun goes

and the stars

are almost ready

to come.

We walk across the sand.

We walk to the water holewhen day is at the middle.

We walk to the water hole

when day is at the middle.

We walk to the night corralwhen day is at the close,the sheep,my motherand my mother's Little Herder.

We walk to the night corral

when day is at the close,

the sheep,

my mother

and my mother's Little Herder.

Before the hogan fire,when night has come,my father sings,my mother whispers,"Come sit beside meLittle Herder."

Before the hogan fire,

when night has come,

my father sings,

my mother whispers,

"Come sit beside me

Little Herder."

I like that name.

From now till alwaysI want to bemy mother's Little Herder.

From now till always

I want to be

my mother's Little Herder.

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