For years you were the dirt on your hands that told a different story,
the sweat sliding down your face.
You were the arrowheads at the pow wows,
sharp, and one of a kind.

For years you were the handkerchief in your pocket,
the flannel shirts on the back of the kitchen chair,
and the light washed jeans that spent a lot of time in the dirt.

For years, you were the light of the room that never seemed to fade.
You were the eagle soaring high,
never blinking your eye or backing away.

For years, you were the pack a day
slowly taking your life away.