As I sat on a Kansas hilltop,
While, far away from my,
Rippled the lights and shadows
Dancing across acres of wheat,
The sound of the grain as it murmured
Wrought a wonder with me.
It turned from the voice of the Prairie
Into the roar of the sea.
And I saw not the running wind-waves,
But an ocean that washed below
In ridging and crumbling breakers
And ceaseless motion and flow;
Then, as a valley is flooded
With opaline mists at morn
Which momently flow asunder
And leave green spaces of corn
Harry Kemp
Artist impression :-)
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