Praise green prairie grass, for man-sown grain,
for meadowlarks that sing from nests of grass
turning tender overnight. Misty etchings upon
the sky — where crickets chirped — above new
and virile grass where cold spring winds blow.
Buffalo grass comes back across the plain — as
on swift wings hours pass — yet I wait to hear
his steps upon grass where dawns first glows
lay fulsome — new buddings — in fertile grass:
his feet lush, soiled with blue grass and white
clover, with sea-green grass and yucca plant —
with purple pasque and sagebrush gray. Grass
stood up to our waist as June breezes rose and
fell — each blade of grass entraced, embossed:
flaming things beyond belief, burnished bright.
. . . . .
Found Prose Poem by Susan Powers Bourne
Source: “grass” search in Prairie Poets, 1959