Cry of the Wilderness
Walking across a prairie brown,
My eyes a glanced up high,
Where creamy clouds, as white as shrouds,
Were gently passing by.
A buzzard all so hungry flew,
Swiftly across the plain;
Down below a mouse came out,
to watch with cheeky disdain.
Our big bird now up in the sky, was getting hunger pain;
The poor grass gone dry, with a thirsty cry;
were hoping for some rain.
A swift coyote sped past fast;
Hopeful of devouring a fine repast:
For after all where the raptor flies,
Can be always heard some dying cries.
This earth so parched arid and torn,
First she’ll see a cactus born,
Although so ugly, so much thorn;
He’s a prickly sight in the early morn.
Tis hard to believe, traversing across this vast expanse:
I’m – actually – watching – the thistle – dance.
-Prince Freakasso
(painter & poet)
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