ANCIENT PATHWAYS

Beloved Wichitas, your granite bones lie scattered on the plains

like the spine of an ancient dinosaur.

Your peaks were once mighty, higher than the Rockies,

but those ancient robber barons wind, water, and time

have stolen your greatness, taken it to the sea.

Ghosts of the past walk the jack oaks that carpet your shoulders. 

Ghosts of pioneers and soldiers don’t linger,

but native spirits still walk along with the spirits of buffalo, elk, bear, and puma. 

The spirit of eagle soars over them all, guarding, watching.

Beloved Wichitas, slumber on, your greatness gone,

but your soul still strong.

Karen Rice © 2007

Awarded 5/15/2007

Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork

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Photo courtesy of Melanie Campos

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