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Find me a winding path through the Tall grass.
There I will run the tops of the seed pods against the palms of my hands.
Standing alone there on the prairie I will go, alas.
These are not the day and times for calm, quiet lands.
Stand I here on a tiny place longing for time with my own.
Although the sky is the same and the winds do blow,
Cannot hear the meadowlark on fence of stone,
Or see rolling billowing clouds I remember and know.
The jangle of the telephone always beckoning for nothing,
Curious and meddlesome some will constantly need to peek
To keep our mind and heart in a sling,
To make my will know how much will I need to speak?
Gather the little ones about my body,
Whether it be against snake, rain, or neighbor,
Close thee away from my store from anything or imagined hot toddy,
Give me solitude away from those at my door. |
