At one point in my life, I fancied myself a poet, but never mind that. Today’s post is hopefully the first in a series of posts that will contain poems that have something to do with the Great Plains. Unless I have a particular something to point out, I will try to refrain from commentary or analysis, but let the poems stand alone.
Here’s one of my favorites from a modern literary lion – Carl Sandburg:
Buffalo Dusk
The buffaloes are gone.
And those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
Those who saw the buffaloes by thousands and how they
pawed the prairie sod into dust with their hoofs, their
great heads down pawing on in a great pageant of dusk,
Those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
And the buffaloes are gone.
– Carl Sandburg
4 Responses
Oh, you’re still a poet–it’s “cosa nostra,” eh?–a lifetime commitment–every time you think you’re out….
. . . they pull me back in!
Many people don’t know that there was one final line in that poem; it goes like this,
“Except Abe…”
. . . and ABE wants to bring ’em all back . . .!