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Horse Trade
There used to be horses here,
Wild herds free to run
Through rolling plains
Under clear sky and burnished sun.
Now waving plains of grain,
Where there used to be grass,
Obliterate all traces of the
Wild horses that would pass
In their wild free roaming times,
Before saddle and bridle and bit,
When the tribes ruled the land
In peace and harmony with it,
did shaman
in ecstatic dance
see the loss
in farseeing trance;
see the lands
raped despoiled
see the rivers
polluted soiled.
Waving plains of grain swiftly falling
To the blades of the new iron horse,
Cutting in long straight swathes
Like a compass plotted course;
Stalks gathered, grain, processed,
Baled, packed stored and gone
Leaving just a stubbled earth
As each harvest team moves on.
wheels turn
round and round
passing over
sacred ground
where underneath
perhaps all alone
shaman remains
as scattered bones
The plains are tilled and rolled
And fed so that each huge field
Year after year produces
In bounteous high yield,
Much in excess of local need,
Which is cleansed and put by,
Though foreign hordes may starve
Until the price again is high.
There used to be horses here
Wild herds free to run
Through rolling plains
Under clear sky and burnished sun
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