Prairie Forge
By Arthur Stilwell
Sudden shout of the at-last spring, with flowers;
Later the hot all-ruling sun filling skies of summer;
Then autumn's harvest sounds rattling amid lengthening shadows;
Last the beautiful tyranny of blizzard-whizzing winter.
And from that the people, whose faces and hearts
Take openness and salutation from their vast sky
And fields; from that presence eternal, compassionate,
That haunts all space and land and so here is everywhere.
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