Barley skin

I'm a prairie Wide open There's nothing complex about it Maybe a mill in ruins in the middle The barley all over me White gigant clouds reflectiong the sun Maybe a bird or two chatting And a couple mice running over The wind calling my name And the exposure of knowing there's nothing marvelous about it Just soil giving birth I'd call myself pretty even if I'm not a shiny ocean or a flamboyant city I'm a prairie girl A west soul