On the Wind-Beaten plains
oncelived my ancestors.
In the day of peaceful moods,
they wandered and hunted.
In the days of need or greed,
they warred and loafed.
Beneath the lazy sun, kind winds above,
they laughed and feasted.
Through the starlit night, under the moon,
they dreamed and loved.
Now, from the wind plains,
only their dust rises.
 by Grey Cohoe

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