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)