I walked along a weedy path
across the Dakota prairie,
the sky heavy with yesterday‘s rain.
Just enough light to cast a shadow;
just enough sunshine to remember
the hot sand and surf of distant shores.
I climbed a small ridge to a line of trees
planted there by prairie winds,
now pacing their slow march to glory.
At path’s end was a barn, leaning
with the quiet grace of antiquity,
as old and ageless as her country.
And there, five wooden crosses
mark the sum total of spent lives,
nameless but to a walking traveler.
Just enough humanity to cast a shadow;
to know their Dakota and understand
why they came.
Copyright 2009. Biran Osborn. All rights reserved.