The
round bales stand, heavy and grand,
it’s been a good year for hay.Up the hill I walk, to sit on my rock,
as master of all I survey.
It
occurs to me, this used to be,
part of the open plain;Before you and me, before cattle was king,
the royal Buffalo reigned.
Clouds
edged with light, day eases to night,
dusk plays tricks with my eyes;Into visions I drift, shapes start to shift,
Night-hawks sing a lullaby.
The
moon rises low, shadows come and go,
I see shaggy beasts in the haze.They come as I sleep, give me knowledge to keep,
I watch them content as they graze.
They
ramble on in, I call them kin,
I awake to find them not there;But it’s not been a dream; I still feel the steam,
of their sacred breath in the air.
The
water still flows. The wind still blows.
The bluestem waves tall and green.And I see them each night, when the moon is just right,
the Buffalo of my dreams.
I breathe a prayer, while I’m standing there
and hope it’s not too late;To save the earth, for what it’s worth,
or we’ll suffer the very same fate.
I’ll
heed their call…Pray for us all,
ask God “Where do we go?”When the moon is pale, I’ll stand near the bales,
and pretend...they’re Buffalo.
For
more information on Debra Coppinger Hill go to AlwaysCowboy.com.
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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
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