From the skirt of night

the rousing sun

gleams crimson hued on snow-capped

mountain tops

above the eagle's arabesques of flight

and wheeling hawk's swift cloud skate.

Prairie grass

bends to the urging of the nascent breeze

(sweet scent of prairie flower and stately pine).

The ruffed grouse drumming in the morning still,

the first sweet song of lark,

the mystic drum

that throbs with hoofbeats of the buffalo herd

all sing of love and life and reverence

for thee, O Mother Earth,

and for thy spawn--

sweet, peaceful plenitude.

Lift then our hearts

to where your sheltering sky

--immense, unmeasured canopy sublime--

will welcome us,

as children, having strayed too far,

receive a Mother's love

returning home.


Jack Wolf
12 jan 97