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Born in the mid west, a long time ago
in the sunflower state where the prairie grass grows
she would spend many days, sharing stories and dreams
Tho' my own feet have never been blessed to step near the place
I would watch as she told  me, with glistening eyes 
I pictured each message, while I quietly listened....

Some might have seen it, in much different hues
but the Kansas I've seen, was from Grandmother's view

It awakens in spring with new sprouting grain
After brittle white frost, or slush under the rain
I have seen just how golden a wheat field might grow
I shall know how a wagon, dark-framed, work at rest
Waits by a shed, and how two horses will stand
Waiting  and grazing where the fence-line might bend

I can see quivering trees, and stiff shocks of corn
The amber of the noon, and the warm sun-cured hay
Milking cow barn, and the old chicken shed
And a barn filled with pigs wait to be fed
A lone, white farm house, with a big front porch
And how a bible rests...on the nightstand, next to a bed

How harsh the weather, how the Chinook wind shakes the roof
And how fast a family gathers, into a cellar when tornados are due
And the sound of a meadowlark, and a hot wood stove and coal black soot
The kindness of folks, and the loss and heartaches
And the smell of roasted chicken, and bread as it bakes

In this place of her birth..... is the scent of the earth...
I see the brown and green
I see what she has seen.......yet only through her eyes
As I stand by her side...under a Kansas prairie sky....

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