The Road to the Spring: Collected Poems of Mary Austin

Caller of Buffalo

322 Caller of Buffalo When past my car window Summer singed plains are heaving Like the flanks of trail weary cattle, When the round backed hills go shouldering down To drink of the western rivers, And heat waves dance in the long dried wallows, Then I remember the Caller of Buffalo. Then I think I see him Headfeathers slant in the wind, Shaking his medicine robe From the buttes of Republican River, At Pawnee Bluffs Offering sacred smoke To the Great White Buffalo. At dawn between the jiggling curtains Comes the clear and star keen note Of his deer shin whistle. O Caller of Buffalo Hunt no more on the ancient traces Pale and emptied of going as a cast snake skin. Come into my mind and hunt the herding thoughts, The White Buffalo of the much desired places, Come with your medicine making, O Caller of Buffalo! Editor’s Notes AU 55 typescript. ...