The west wind daily conquers Nebraska plains,
Enslaving tall-grass fields as weather vanes,
To gesture toward the way the force has gone;
Uproarious bully, he thinks he entertains:
He rattles windows, whistles, knocks at doors;
Out in the yard, he grabs at hats, explores
Beneath girls’ skirts to find what they have on,
Stirs dust in circles till a whirlwind soars.
As vicious dogs sense persons with most fears,
The wind wails loudest in the troubled ears
Of those who try to bear the vexing sound
But can’t withstand the way wind perseveres.
A neighbor farm wife, unhinged, lately penned
A note declaring that she’d reached the end.
She has a silent home now underground
Where she won’t hear again the taunts of wind.
Copyright © 2010. Don Thackrey. All rights reserved.