You scorned because I could not be possessed,
For I was born beneath an endless sky,
And hailed sun rise in east, and set in west;
I wandered meadows like bold clouds on high.
At night beneath a swollen yellow moon,
Heard wolves compete in forlorn lonesome calls,
Oft serenaded by some haunted loon,
Or harkened quite to distant cattle wrawls;
But you were every inch a city lass,
Born with a clock in both your heart and soul,
Fair coddled by tall walls of clay and glass,
All measured worth defined by golden tolls.
I hope you find a heart true to your ends;
As mine roams free on brazen prairie winds.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.