The moonlight beams upon the clouds tonight
Amongst the shapes, I see the bison strong
My mind recalls this creature's bulky might
The billow vanishes before too long
Compelled to scream my words of poetry
To any open mind or willing ear
My voice with fury vents my misery
And still the world ignores my presence here
The bison once again do I behold
And do they thunder fast across the plains
In sorrow wonder I what would unfold
Should I decide to join in their refrain
Among the multitudes, I have no place
And all I know is melancholy's grace.
