Listening to every heart
West of the Kansas Flint Hills, not yet to Kansasí flats
lives a secret, sacred, lovely place, I know where it is at,
swollen mounds of ground lift me a little bit on high
where my feet touch the ground, my hand can stroke the sky.
Itís at this place where I can be, between now and November
I may go there and roam about, lean back and then remember
a time woven long in history, a place only in my dreams
amidst the grasses rising tall, higher than white manís seen.
Native grasses on ground never tilled, growing grassroots deep
Turkeyfoot, Indiangrass, bluestem grasses that still do keep
a watch on the land, Indian land, native land at its best
keeping land, virgin land, that is the greatest test.
When Septemberís sun brings a shine to eight foot heads of gold
I then know that secret which the Spaniards did not know
that golden grains of seed will bring forth seedlings new
and if I could, then I would, share this vision with you.
28 August, 1999
Words will always express our feelings true. ~~~ KRJ
Look, then, into thine heart, and write ~~~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow