That seamless sky that stretches tight
In dauntless blue abounds
And crowns that sweet terrain;
A glazed cerulean bowl that broadly spans
Mountain and bold prairie grounds
Awash in golden light of endless wheat and tawny grains
That wave to greet in proud salute
The celestial Lord of days.
Upon that land where gods do play
There casting bounties wide with brash delight
While wild rose horizons fade to gentle night,
And then the light of yet ten thousand stars
To burst upon mute plains and sandy bars
So sparking hope among those souls
Who ever lonely are.
The timber wolf calls out their woes
As if in solemn somber prayer
To wail the purple air
And purge the land of pain, his purpose be
To call upon and save those wandering souls…
And bring them home.
Around the heart spun fields of gold,
Dark endless forests
An endless brave of sentinels command,
There ever manning guard.
Foreboding boreal shadows like a darkling sea
Where denizens do stalk and scare
Those timid hearts that may yet dare
To breech the stolid lines and so behold
The hollows where black stories told
Shall ever haunt the mind.
Oh mountains high!
That reach up to that peerless sky
Where hawks and eagles set, unfold and fly
To proudly hunt as days of old—
Unfettered feathered monarchs of the air
There blessed of freedom yet beyond compare
Where even mighty sovereigns stop
Upon those granite faces trickle down
The tears of joy that giggle into streams
Where rainbow colored fishes dream
In water yet so pure no man can say,
But knows to be thus baptized is to stay
Again the sun to rise a shining morn
Yet now to gaze upon the sweeping white
And craggy ice etched main
With cloudy breath like plumes of frozen words
Of nivean praise rise up now as so to say
I love this more than any other day—
There heaven’s diamonds glinting on the snow
Jeweled riches yet beyond a kings’ command;
A regal show.
Who would believe that endless eider would bestow
A splendored blessed tableau
Where yet beneath
Creep creatures meek
Whose prayers beseech
That sweet ephemeral Chinook to purse and blow
And gently call upon that flowered paintbrush
To erupt and claim the silent sleeping land
With stippled hues and strokes that rise, ignite
And melt the snow with living prairie fire.
Nor else on earth exists a state so grand
That swells the heart in boundless nature pure
And can the stiffest conscience stir
In memories that can purely touch the strand;
Or move in truth, sweet flowing tears unplanned
Or cause their sons to give lives free of hand
For her great soul:
That those who see are so enchanted there
That they fair wish to die and be,
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.