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Lullaby across the Plains

Fears ensnared within the winter's grip, drifts cold along the harden ground
And one lone ember burns, peering up, longing to be amidst its heaven brothers
I witness its struggle, simply for survival, from the settled dust tucked in ashen grays
Unto stones that lie forever encased under ambiance tethers of the twilight slumbers

In the mist of my sleepy hollow head I hear a flute's recital sadly play
Of days not far ahead and think them some great mystery of unseen enemies
But a seer, louder are the years which follow them as if it's even greater dread
So I return my thoughts outward to the plains lulling weave in tapestries

Where the winds astray somehow lost, are moaning out a tune of sacred song
Its warning, crawling long like shadows, entwined with astral visions rolling in
Caught like prey, they entangle in the catchers, dreamers webs of the dancing trees
Shamans of the din, spinning medicine, purges impurities from unconscious men

Souls akin, Ojibwe people growing warmer, brighter as the ember on this hallow ground
As old man elder breathing echo sounds; still rhythms, lulls of snow falling on a drum
To the beating hearts blanket silence all around, of the intruders soon to steal away the clouds
And their tracks of cold steel lying like certain death, dividing up lands where the rivers run

Still I listen, to the plains that speak in many ways but, peace in nightless lullabies
So the cricket's lie dormant, calmer is the wintry song of a bolder buffalo's growling snore
Beneath the watchful eye of the snowy goddess moon, like covered clouds upon the desert floor
Undisturbed by ghosts of warriors, galloping across the powder grass looking for their wayward home

So, I call out in low whispers "brothers, we are here" adding lyric to the Algonquin tune
And with eyes smile closing, I watch the ember too, even stronger passion to the hearth
Coyote serenading love of light in acquiesce, empowered by life, of the Great Spirit's gift which lingers
And mother's gentle hand lies nigh, across the plains in a comfort to all her children of this Earth

With this I finally find the keeper of the sleep, and tarry, if but for a while longer
Although, knowing all things must end with grandfather Death
But, the spirit will live on; past and present
Across the plains in its lullabying song, of the native winter's breath

© Michael G. Smith.

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