Dead level, endless and dry
The great flat prairie stretches out
Under a pale blue sky
The Falls brief gold gives way
To distant Northern tundra, Arctic waste
The stubbled ground is grey
Soon, wind with razor breath
Forms a bitter crust across the land
The winters hard as death
The blizzard comes one night
In blinding, spiraled blur of crystal flakes
And grey is turned to white
The day breaks gleaming new
Brings it's glimpse of keen seraphic light
Tingeing snow with blue
This was written by my father years ago. My father passed away last year and I thought I would share some of his work on this site.
great poem, the apple didn't fall far from the tree, great legacy Dom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
dom, my thanks to you and your dad for sharing, as i was reading it i heard an owl calling outside. i could easily imagine it was an owl on the prairie. bri p.s. a high school classmate from New York State (and her husband) recently moved to the blue mountains after living elsewhere down under for about 15 years.