CORNHUSKERS
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RAIRIE — I was born on the prairie and the milk of its wheat, thered of its clover, the eyes of its women, gave mea song and a slogan. Here the water went down, the icebergs slid with gravel,the gaps and the valleys hissed, and the black loamcame, and the yellow sandy loam. Here between the sheds of the Rocky Mountains and theAppalachians, here now a morning star fixes a firesign over the timber claims and cow pastures, thecorn belt, the cotton belt, the cattle ranches. Here the gray geese go five hundred miles and backwith a wind under their wings honking the cry fora new home. Here I know I will hanker after nothing so much asone more sunrise or a sky moon of fire doubledto a river moon of water. The prairie sings to me in the forenoon and I know inthe night I rest easy in the prairie arms, on the- prairie heart. After the sunburn of the dayhandling a pitchfork at a hayrack,after the eggs and biscuit and coffee,the pearl-gray haystacks in the gloaming are cool prayers to the harvest hands. 3
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