I’ve called out to the trees
And I’ve called out to the birds,
But walking through these badlands,
There are no words.

Buffalo grass dances in silence
To the song of the west wind,
And the person I know myself to be
Will never pass this way again.

This land does not know my name,
And the west wind I thought would call
Seems to know we are not the same,
And I shouldn’t have come here at all.

The prairie child comes to understand
He won’t be finding his fate in this land.

Words by Ron Willis
Photography by Irena Mila

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