The Last Word Of A Bluebird by Robert Frost

(as told to a child)

As I went out, a Crow
In a low voice said, “Oh,
I was looking for you.
How do you do?
I just came to tell you
To tell Lesley (will you?)
That her little Bluebird
Wanted me to bring word
That the north wind last night
That made the stars bright
And made ice on the trough
Almost made him cough
His tail feathers off.
He just had to fly!
But he sent her Good-by,
And said to be good,
And wear her red hood,
And look for skunk tracks
In the snow with an ax –
And do everything!
And perhaps in the spring
He would come back and sing.”

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It Reigns by Dennis Lange

……………………It Reigns

The sky is blue-cloudless, but still the sky rains,
Not water it holds, but the dust of the Plains.
The mist that is brown like the land, not the sky,
Now wearies the nose as it worries the eye.

The Plains are a table, as flat as can be,
And wind blows there often as careless and free
As stallions not stayed by a hand or a rein
Run wild o’er the prairie with high flying mane.

Now, north wind is blowing, both here and up there,
And carries its burden for others to share.
The distance it travels is three hundred miles,
And neither their faces or our faces have smiles.

For their land is blowing away from its home
And one day will leave them as bare as a bone,
While we are all suff’ring from soil that won’t stay –
It settles on hills that the rains wash away.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

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