Shijo George Poet Free verse

The Timid Prairy

The Timid Feet of Prairie
Across the pale and whispering prairie land,
I walked where winds like ancient prophets sighed;
The grasses bent beneath the silver hand
Of dusk that drifted slowly, wide and wide.
No voice was there but trembling larks of air,
No shape but clouds that wandered far from seas;
Yet something moved with shy and tender care—
The timid feet of prairie through the breeze.
They stepped through amber waves of trembling grain,
They brushed the hush of flowers bent in prayer;
Their passing stirred the fragrance after rain
And left soft echoes trembling in the air.
No mortal eye could mark the path they took,
No stone could bind the journey they pursued;
Yet in the meadow’s ever-open book
Their silent verses shimmered, shy and good.
I heard them in the rustling fields at night
When moonlight dripped like milk on prairie stones;
They wandered softly out of silver light
And walked among the grasses and their bones.
Their sandals seemed of twilight and of dew,
Their steps as light as feathers of the sky;
The prairie breathed as if the earth once knew
Some secret soul that never wished to cry.
O timid feet, what ancient road you trace
Across the breathing body of the plain?
What pilgrim ghost or spirit’s hidden grace
Still walks in shadows after sun and rain?
Do you belong to winds that lost their name
Before the birth of towns and iron rails?
Or are you echoes of a sacred flame
That flickers faint in memory’s old tales?
Perhaps you are the breath of hidden streams
That move beneath the prairie’s patient skin;
Perhaps the residue of wandering dreams
That never found the place they might begin.
For every step awakens golden sound—
A whisper stitched within the prairie’s chest;
And every hush becomes a sacred ground
Where timid feet of prairie come to rest.
At dawn I saw the grasses bow again
As though they knelt before an unseen king;
The timid feet had wandered through the plain
And left the trembling silence of their wing.
The sun arose like fire from eastern seas,
Yet still their traces lingered in the dew—
A thousand silver paths among the trees
Where timid winds and prairie spirits flew.
O prairie wide, whose heart is deep and old,
Whose breath is woven through the centuries’ thread,
You guard the quiet stories never told
Of wandering souls and fragile hopes long dead.
And still they walk where amber oceans lie,
Where lonely clouds drift slowly through the blue—
The timid feet that cross the endless sky

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