Bitter Days

TORNADO

She bore the hardships of a pioneer

With fortitude; only, she learned to hate

The Buffalo Wind-a hostile norm of fate-

That chewed its dry cud over and over. Queer,

How it would trample every tender spear

Of ribbon grass beside the orchard gate,

And like a live thing lean its phantom weight

Against young trees. She fought a shadowy fear-

Until one day-the sky grew smoky yellow.

A dun cloud reared. She felt the prairies' hush-

The quake of sod-and walls caught in a crush

Of milling winds! Below the stampede's bellow

She knelt upon the cellar floor to pray

That God would keep the vengeful herds away.

FAMINE

March came to them that year on coyote feet-

Each day a circle nearer. Dark and still,

The dugout cowered back against the hill.

Would winter never end? The whining sleet

Began; and like a worried feeble fox

That braves the dogs to forage for its brood,

The father started out in search of food,

Daring the savage vernal equinox.

: Leslie Dykstra

Old settlers tell of how that night in bed,

His neighbors heard a queer sound like the scratch

Of claws. They found him-leaning on the latch

Outside the door-a thing of ice!-hours dead.

They tell too, how his children still would snatch

At food, months after, even though full fed.

Leslie Dykstra

EXTREMITY

What lonely hours I spend

No man must know,

Or that all roads for me

Are drifted full of snow.

What cheerless husks I eat

No eye shall see,

Nor curiously gaze