#WritcoPoemPrompt70
You took my pulse without ever touching me,
Like honey and flowers, you were my bumble-bee

Thou took'st mine pulse without a touch divine,
Like honeyed bloom, thou wert a bee of mine

O'er rolling plains of mighty Iowa's realm,
Where golden maize doth Nature overwhelm,
Whilst hardy yeomen till the fertile soil,
And honest folk with steadfast spirit toil.

Hark! How the wind doth whisper 'cross the lea,
Where prairie grass waves like a verdant sea,
And mighty oaks that guard the ancient ground
Stand sentinel o'er treasures newly found.

Lo! In yon field where kine do graze at peace,
Where morning's dew brings temporary lease,
The ploughman's share doth cut the earth so deep,
While hawks above their solemn vigil keep.

Forsooth, the river's mighty waters flow,
Past settlers' lands of seasons long ago,
Where red-winged blackbirds sing their matin song,
And wild deer through the meadow pass along.

Prithee, remember how the seasons turn,
While autumn fires in yonder valley burn,
And winter's shroud doth blanket field and fold,
Till spring returns with promises of gold.

Verily, thou wert mine own heart's delight,
Like stars that guide the wanderer by night,
In this fair land betwixt the rivers twain,
Where memories, like wheat fields, grow again.
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