A Different Kind Of Speaking

The golden rods and reeds,
The prairie states
And stakes its hold
In the real.
The sunlight stands
And in its gaze
Under gargantuan
Willows, the mists
Graze the tops
Of fields and
Farmer’s furrows.

One can see now
All is feral
And fallow,
And weeds
Are a wonder
Which none need
Or shall erase
Once allowed.
Follow the fear,
The story,
Left alone
Unpaved and
Unproud
Not a stone
To be seen
Or saved—-Glory
To the near.