The Prairie at Dusk
By Lonnie C. Crowe
In early November, just at dusk,
The flaxen prairie nearly shimmers
Against the blue-gray evening.
Streaks of crimson disappearing into the west,
The horizon stretching endlessly.
Distant mountains faintly dotting
The crease dividing earth and sky.
The vastness--
The stillness--
The herd of white-tailed pronghorn
Bounding, rebounding homeward.
Almighty God, greater than the limitless western prairie
more powerful than the darkening sky
reaching into eternity.
Almighty God, You care for the prancing pronghorn,
and are mindful, too, of man,
crowning him with honor and glory,
that seeing You in Your creation,
we might praise Your holy name.
