[Please join us in welcoming to the Happy Pasture the indescribably indescribable mesmerising poetry of new contributor Rhonda Dextraze. If you are as dumb-struck by Rhonda's work as we are, why not show your appreciation by clicking on the 'Like' button below. Enjoy!]
I have placed my ear into the wind
Listening for these sounds
Now, I'll speak of them:
There is a rhythm in the late summer
That rubs against the prairie day
The wind caresses yellow strands of wheat
Wheat bends into that touch
Love speaks secrets in this way
While pressing against the sun
At night this same kiss is a lament.
This I have known this and I tell you, before it is too late for that pleasure to be spoken of in words.
Have you heard the prairie wind in winter?
It moans. I tell you it moans. It is a ghost wandering through the sky waiting for those summer kisses, turning up wisps of dry wheat and bits of snow. Looking. Waiting.
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