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A Priarie Minuet

Slow bobbing, bobbing to and fro
With awkward steps across the grass,
In solemn lines they come and go
And like dancers change and pass.

Their ceiling is the deep blue sky,
The ball-room floor, the level plains,
Their music, winds that hurry by
This minuet of sand-hill cranes.
Ernest McGaffey [1861–?]