Oklahoma

There are no lofty mountain peaks, nor inlets of the sea. Just rolling plains for miles on end, where the wind blows wild and free. And before we found the oil, what was there indeed? Mild lands, so unadorned, unsuited for man's greed. Perhaps that's why the sowers, the ones who came before, Were so intent on fashioning, for their children, so much more. What quiet beauty in the hands, that built this precious state, Tis it not man's greatest gift? To till, and plant, and wait? Knowing well the fruit will come, too late for us to taste. And knowing still our choice was right, that others call a waste. By the struggle of our fathers, and sons in years to come, who's to speak the limit, of what we can become? 2 September 2017