Harlot Wind
The yellow wren himself pulled out his feathers,
with them he made me a prostitute,
a whore running over the land
with feathers on my head
with my hands clasped.
Blue bird drifted at the edge of the land
lying on the blue wind
White wind ran in wind
blowing dust
Moons are shining in me here
you men will see
You women shall see
the far distant moon come to meet me
when I blow upon this blue reed.
Pima Medicine Song
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