"The Flower-Fed Buffaloes"

The Flower-Fed Buffaloes

Vachel Lindsay

The flower-fed buffaloes of the spring

In the days of long ago,

Ranged where the locomotives sing

And the prairie flowers lie low;

The tossing, blooming, perfumed grass

Is swept away by wheat,

Wheels and wheels and wheels spin by

In the spring that still is sweet.

But the flower-fed buffaloes of the spring

Left us long ago.

They gore no more, they bellow no more,

They trundle around the hills no more:

With the Blackfeet lying low,

With the Pawnees lying low,

Lying low.