The wind that sweeps across the city
Has a pensive note of pity
For the pale pathetic people gathered there;
And it sings its note of sorrow
With what gusto it can borrow,
Blowing dust and dirty paper everywhere.
Out beyond the city limits,
Chlorophyll and sunshine dim its
Blackness to a healthy living growing green;
And it breathes a note of cheer
Unashamed and soft and clear,
Unrestrained by man-made walls, rain-washed and clean.
We who listen to its ditty
Here beyond the sordid city
Where it sweeps the golden orange span of wheat
Know too, peace that comes with living
Where the clover heads are giving
Atmosphere, the touch of which makes life complete.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 12, 1951
