Prairie Poetry   
  Nothing Between Me                And The North Pole

On days like this
The wind strips whole trees bare,
Drifts leaves in ragged piles,
Roars past roof tops,
Steals my breath when I turn my face;
And I, too, feel bare, exposed,
Stripped of town-bred thoughts,
Naked to the plains where I was born,
Nothing between me and the North Pole
But a three-wire fence in Montana,
And someone left the gate open.

  John I. Blair
  Copyright © 2003 John I. Blair
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