Secrets Poem by Dove Allen

Wind whistles on the prairie
Pulling, tugging on wide spread
Grass, wild and free
What secrets does the zephyr
Whisper to a single blade
Grouped as if to huddle
From an unseen force
Perhaps a storm looms
On the horizon, only time
Sees the coming of the season

Old man winter sets a course
Upon acres prime for his
Dance with icy chimes
Falling bits of snow arranged
In lacy patterns, no two alike
Blanket the land with
A cold quilt of silence
Only heard by man’s need to
Fight against the bluster and chill
That stops all activity and action
On the vast land of mice and men