How could she love me like the wind –
So touch my face, and make me bend
To her, and then just disappear
On backs of white-tailed leaping deer?
As quickly as a norther blows
O’er prairie land, and never slows,
And ripples wheat like ocean waves
She stirred my soul. She made me slave
To her, to wind, that travels on.
And after all the breeze has blown,
And all the leaves and flags are free,
Alone I stand in slavery.
—
----------------------------------------------------- © Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.
The Bard on the Hill 