Up the hill I walk, to sit on my rock,
as master of all I survey.
Before you and me, before cattle was king,
the royal Buffalo reigned.
Into visions I drift, shapes start to shift,
Night-hawks sing a lullaby.
They come as I sleep, give me knowledge to keep,
I watch them content as they graze.
But it’s not been a dream; I still feel the steam,
of their sacred breath in the air.
And I see them each night, when the moon is just right,
the Buffalo of my dreams.
To save the earth, for what it’s worth,
or we’ll suffer the very same fate.
When the moon is pale, I’ll stand near the bales,
and pretend...they’re Buffalo.
RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL is featured each week at ALWAYS COWBOY where Debra is a Resident Western Poet. Join her and her Cowboy Friends for Cowboy Poetry, News, Events. http://alwayscowboy.net/debra_coppinger_hill_poetry.html