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When my body goes back unto the soil borrowed
nutrients to return,
When this phase of life is done with strife and earthly toil can spurn;
Let my place be on a prairie sea where grasses grow tall and thick,
Where broadleaved forbs with scented orbs track erratic breeze,
And shrubs and trees with glistening leaves sprawl along the crick.
Let my ashes land on grassland grand,
Their elements help grow grass roots below to hold the prairie sand;
With fire and rain on grazed terrain dormant plants their growth renew,
In wind and light through stormy range life begins anew.
Let livestock graze on native feed, unused nutrients their
dung re-bestow;
While wildlife free, unfettered be, are there to browse and grow;
Where insects feed and reptiles breed, wild birds the prairie grass grains sow.
Sun, sky, water, soil; land and man; ecosystem all;
At that time, in that place the Master Rangeman's plan recall.
I want no blot to mark God's plot, the range with life replete;
My grave unmarked, on sod embarked, life's cycle is complete.
In summer heat and winter cold, this my wish now be told;
If with rain and melted snow range plants grow rank and green;
Or if in drought, when water without, shoots wither brown not greenly seen;
This then be my rangeman's plea for that dynamic grazing ground:
My rangeland lot, tend it not (though burn it oft),
And please, I pray, unless for hay don't mow it down.
----R. E. Rosiere
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