Up the dusk-enfolded prairie, <br /> Foot-falls, soft and sly, <br />Velvet cushioned, wild and wary, <br /> Then--the coyote's cry. <br /> <br />Rush of hoofs, and roar and rattle, <br /> Beasts of blood and breed, <br />Twenty thousand frightened cattle, <br /> Then--the wild stampede. <br /> <br />Pliant lasso circling wider <br /> In the frenzied flight-- <br />Loping horse and cursing rider, <br /> Plunging through the night. <br /> <br />Rim of dawn the darkness losing <br /> Trail of blackened soil; <br />Perfume of the sage brush oozing <br /> On the air like oil. <br /> <br />Foothills to the Rockies lifting <br /> Brown, and blue, and green, <br />Warm Alberta sunlight drifting <br /> Over leagues between. <br /> <br />That's the country of the ranges, <br /> Plain and prairie land, <br />And the God who never changes <br /> Holds it in His hand.<br /><br />Emily Pauline Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-cattle-country/
