I dreamed of a country called Wild Rose...
amalgamated one to another,
a stranger wouldn't make a difference
to this phenomenon after a while.
A land with little dancing clouds
day in and day out.
Horses born in this harsh land run wild
and other times parched with creeks and rivers
they just roam for survival.
Alongside coyotes they will stop at one of
a million lakes to salute a goose or geese
who playfully release their never ending melodies
to the moody wind.
Is it a roar or is it a warning to baby bear not to
adventure too far in the wild, or will it send the
groundhog back in his hole for fear of the
unknown until all the termination of the commotion
reaches his safe sanctuary.
A heat blanket surges from the belly of the land
swayng fearlessly up and down the horizon.
A gentle wind passes close to the caked cracked land
and from the mouth of the heart, emerges a tiny bug,
one can't tell what it will produce in a week or maybe
a day or two. Experience tells the viewer it will be the
most beautiful and respected flower of these prairies
and harsh land ... none other than the WILD ROSE to
embellish the scenery of a hard earned name,
respect and beauty in a land with no name.