Hands
Today I was frightened by a waving of hands . . .
All day the wind blew west on Illinois
All day the sky was ribbed with blue and grey
And met the prairie like a folding arch,
But in the tall grey prairie grass
There was a sad waving of hands.
Hands there were in a wistful mist
Red hand, brown hand, hand of the white man
A history
a legend of hands
in the tall grey prairie grass.
The prairie has you now,
You men who swept her like a wind
You men who darkened her like a cloud shadow
Your hands are soft with mold.
The prairie has you now . . .