A Book of Poetry
for dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return
When on the farm you learn to live with and tolerate dust: from the fields, the roads, blown in the air from afar, and death.
Dust on the horizon
appeared in the heat's mirage
Grandpa, the only one looking said,
never there 'less something's happening.
Watch for Clara May and Frieda as they bring you those naughty men of the square
A YOUNG FARMBOY AGONIZES ABOUT HIS FUTURE
They remain silent for so long; cicadas sing when they can, unlike the square that will never sing again, except for a whispered dirge deep in my memory. .