Terry D. Sutherland
THE PRAIRIE
Awarded: May 24, 2007On 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 windblown
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
©Copyright May 22, 2007 by Terry Sutherland
Prairie Flowers near East Glacier Park, Montana