choteau

The hills and

their sweet grasses

stood sentry

guarding time

witness to

the changing seasons

and

demolition by mankind

too stoic

to flinch

too passive

to resist

their soils

torn

riding the wind

barren plains

now sown

with

cheat(ing) grasses

purple majesty

running red

no more

does thunder

roll

unless

by

the heavens

called

 


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