Prairie Fever
Mary! Mary!
Cries the wind
Our children dead
By your maddened ways.
I curse these barren prairies
Our mildened soil by your fruitful hands
Leave no lasting grace.
I run naked and wildened
Like savage and buffalo
Sleeping abreast sagebrush.
Darker clouds gathered yonder
Where lightning falls.
I huddle so
A corpse
In waiting.
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