The spark plugs are gone; there’s no fire inside Her pistons long idle, her spirit has died She rusts in dishonor, not even a grave In reward for the service she gave In a field back of nowhere, abandoned, alone Been robbed of the seat that was used as a throne No one to sing to the song of the gears Everything’s gone with the years… In her prime she could plow fifteen acres a day The binder in fall was considered as play With full tanks she’d boldly strike out at the dawn Be there until last light had gone. One way or harrows, she didn’t much care The belt pull of harvest when fall’s in the air Her real work, revealing what lay below ground Each new year when spring rolled around
Even on a cloudy day this waterfall is insanely beautiful - Sunwapta falls, Jasper National Park
Native American girl from last weeks Powwow in Carson City, Nevada.