An indigenous medicine woman once told me that love is to walk on Mother Earth as her most beloved child, to trust that she values an honest intention and knows how to guide our steps.
As Amy spoke, a great tear dropped on the golden hair of the sleeping child in her arms, for her one well–beloved daughter was a frail little creature and the dread of losing her was the shadow over Amy's sunshine.
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep; Rock me to sleep, mother, -rock me to sleep!