A service of the Kansas State Library
© Copyright 2001
John & Susan Howell
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The sad low moan of a turtle dove
Comes from a distant hill; And the sighing sound of a gentle breeze But no music of the rill; For I am far from the babbling brook, A sandhill claim I own; The yucca and the cactus plant Are natives of my home. The rattlesnake is a native too, And the coyote wild and shy; At night I hear his yelping wail As in my bed I lie. In the cool still morn I hear the sound Of the mother prairie hen As she clucks and calls to her little ones To hide at the approach of men, And a little bird with snow white wings Alights on a post near my door And sits unafraid as he warbles and sings While the sunshine gleams on my floor. |
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