The Spirit of God is in the wind that glides across the land-
stirring the tall Blue Stem into billowing waves of grass
that roll toward snow-topped mountains
defining the distant horizon-
mountains appearing nearly as purple as those
grape flavored candy dots stuck on paper strips
that, as a child, seemed so appealing.
Majestic birds of prey glide effortless overhead,
riding invisible currents of air-
escalators in the sky-
adding their plaintive calls to that of the incessant wind.
Below, furry creatures scurry for cover-
reminiscent of soldiers on fields of strife-
desperately fearing overhead activity and sounds.
Wild prairie flowers of all colors and variety
bloom profusely-
diffused throughout a tapestry of green-
like colored glass ornaments on a Christmas tree-
not as glitzy to the eye but more pleasing to the nose.

So beautiful for its “spacious skies” and waving seas of grass-
and for “Purple mountains majesty” beyond its great expanse.
Virgin land never touched by plow or defiled with post and wire.
So grand-
The Tall Grass Prairie-
once so vast, now nearly gone forever-
replaced with corn, beans, and wheat.
I understand that a prosperous people must eat-
but can’t we preserve for posterity what little is left-
as a constant reminder that even prosperity has a price?