The Prairie
On the high
plains where the meadowlark sings
Where the
rattler soaks in the morning sun
Where
patches of thistles grow and nettles sting
Where wind
devils whirl and dance in fun
On the high
plains where we call home
Grain
fields go forever and rivers never run
There is
solitude there; but one’s never alone
The breezes
in summer temper hot sun
The dirt
roads and hills beckon you roam
Each gulley
and hill a mystery undone
Castles and
cities cut by wind in sandstone
Herds of
Bison grazed in hot summer sun
Now only
bleached bones scattered with stone
The mighty
Bison herd is gone by the gun
Never again
graze on rich grasses the prairie had grown
Gone the
way of life when the west was won
We long for
the prairie flat and wind blown
The voice
of the kill deer and wax wing are heard
Antelope
lay in painted earth tones
Mule deer
and white tail browse quietly, unheard
Above in
the sky the golden eagle flies
Searching
for prey below in the hills
Above see
painted clouds in the skies
Below the
coyote practices hunting skills
The colors
are lavender, tan, pink and white
Dirt roads
lead but never end
The hot
days of summer are always bright
Always
yearning for what’s beyond the bend
The prairie
brings us home; we’ll never leave again
©5/22/07Terry Sutherland
Sans Peur
Terry
Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork
Graphic by Jason Verschoor
Background sequence by Chuck Duklis