Blowing In the Wind
I was born on the plains in nineteen ten.
Farming was good and we worked oh so hard.
Daddy took me out on the porch and then
He'd say,"This will be your farm, little pard."
He taught me the crops - oats and wheat and corn -
How to drive the old tractor straight and true.
I belonged to this land where I was born,
And my daddy said,"This belongs to you."
When I was a young man rain ceased to fall.
Try as we might the sun shone without end,
And dust rose high to cast a deathly pall -
"My son, your farm is blowing in the wind".
And so the "dust bowl" touched us all it seems.
Blowing in the wind were my hopes and dreams.
8/19/17
For contest Blowing in the Wind for Nicola Byrne
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