Music

Tall grass bows low against the wind,
Seed heads rattle on tender stalks.
Across the flatland ears are tuned,
Listening to the prairie talk.

Come -- it whispers softly,
Stay -- it sings to all.
The music of the grassland
Live -- it seems to call.

Through the grass come the buffalo,
Making deep trails through the blade.
Converging on an old blackjack,
The prairies only spot of shade.

Go -- it gusts relentless,
Leave -- it wails a call.
The music of the grassland,
Life -- to one and all.