The Last Of The Mohicans

No one like you, whatever anyone may say or do,
when you're gone, a vacuum left in shades of blue;
a warrior, fighter, who gazed down on valleys below,
headband denoted your lineage and afraid of no foe. 

The tribe listened to you, believed what was true,
you conquered hearts, turned heads in the queue;
but now you're here, no longer in wide open plains,
planting, riding, loving and waiting for the good rains.

The power from long ago was transfered to present,
as thouugh an armoury for now was suddenly apparent;
those old attributes shuffled your persona to softness;
brought congratulatory feelings, love and togetherness.

We fought, but there were no winners, only beauty,
how could I protest after you said that you loved me.