Poetry

Pressing against the wide sky

And defying the howling storm,

A structure rose from the earth,

Climbing upward

In a never-ending battle

Against the elements

Rain, snow, and wind

…always the wind.

Carved from the flat prairie,

Soil and sod grew

To resemble a little house,

As though the wind had reached

An angry claw deep into the ground

And ripped up blocks of soil

From the rim of the land

…always the wind.

Creatures sought refuge

Under its earthy roof

And lived within its musty walls

Until they were driven out

By those with the grit

To fight dust, hail, and wind,

Eluding the great tempest

…always the wind.

A young woman lifted sad eyes

To the throbbing sun

In search of freedom,

Longing to turn back time

Only to be teased by the wind.

She was too late

To win this fight with the land

…always the wind.

The slick grass parted as she drifted

To the marker where Gustav lay.

Her father, the blacksmith, made

The traditional Swedish cross

For this little one,

The third of its kind

To stand against the brutal wind

…always the wind.

The first cross was for Singne,

The second for Carl,

And now Gustav.

Gustav, who lived two full years,

As rebellious as the wind

Now remembered by a steel marker

Fashioned by a loving grandfather

…always the wind.

The dust devils screamed,

"Do not make your home here!"

And the crosses whistled back,

Making a new sound

To defy the wild wind,

But still it blew relentlessly

Over three small Swedish crosses

…always the wind.

The woman cursed the corn,

The sun-baked ground,

And the song of the locust.

Nonetheless, the blowing continued

Churning and twisting the clouds

Into ghastly mounds of gray

In this land so far from home

…always the wind.

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