This is another poem written by my mom, Geneva Martin. It's from her poetry book, Poems From The Heart. I hope you enjoy it.
A green gold magic rested on the summer prairie grass,
as it bent in stressed submission,
letting covered wagons pass.
They crushed its' gentle beauty for so very many years,
these determined, able people, these adventurous pioneers.
They suffered mighty hardships, which proved their sterling worth,
And many a young American knew the prairie at his birth.
Some travelers lost a needed wheel, as long hot days rolled by,
While others nursed sick loved ones, then watched them slowly die.
They buried them and left them, in the prairie grass somewhere,
with no headstone, and no minister, just tears, and a heartfelt prayer.
The mountains challenged their pioneer strength, but their fortitude didn't bend.
It's a miracle any of them made it. It could have been the pioneers' end.
But these early Americans had tenacity, more than most of us have inside,
To them it was a matter of making it, these pioneers of American pride.
By: Geneve M. Martin
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