where the prairie grasses played, tossed by the winds of summer and barren of any shade. From that grand promontory one could see a distant home rising from the prairie sod and the land where cattle roam. To the west the land stretched on... waves of grass, a moving sea, splashing on a sandy shore too distant for man to see. The river, off to the south, shrunken from the springtime flood with waters now running blue, and no longer filled with mud. But that view was overcome by a mound of new-turned soil and a wee fist of daisies that marked a poor digger's toil. Guarding that lonely hilltop a small home-made cross now stands, marking one more sacrifice to hardship on prairie lands. The sod home seemed empty then but the rancher toiled on glancing very frequently t'ward the place his love'd gone. >>> Click here for additional archived poetry! <<< Copyright ©2003 by Clark Crouch. |