Plains

CYCLE I: EARTH  
 
From highest lands to Mother’s lap, the Way  
Is found, Her flats in wheat straw tendrils spread,  
Which slightest breath in subtle wave-forms play,  
From muddied banks to canyon towers’ edge.  
And with Her Springs and storms Her floods may come,  
Still time’s progress brings verdant life arise.  
In pounding of their weight, the stampede's drum,  
They split the rows like Nature's force realized.  
In air here scented sweet, filled hot they run,  
It’s in this lush, where mighty tracks are found,  
And here where mighty hunts in battles won,  
When cunning hunters bend to holy ground.    
With harvest passed when all their hungers sate,  
Recline with Winter’s night for hard Spring’s wait.  
 
April 7 - NaPoWriMo 2017