Now I trudge, knee-deep through golden sea waves.
The endless blue above looms big, bright, and round.
Days blend together,
one indistinguishable from another.
Tears-not of sweat
or pain of limb
trail through dusty cheeks.
They drop one by one.
The small, innocent presences
no longer linger by the wagon's wheels,
or mother's coarse, sack skirt.
I remember their small hands,
each little kiss,
and wave good-bye.
The sound of laughter,
One by one,
they succumbed to winter's snare,
or summer's smothering.
Even through perfume of prairie flower,
the bitter taste of bile chokes me.
Only after death could I possibly find solace.
perhaps not even then.
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