The cursed wind
Do you have wind in your county? If you don’t, you’ll find all that moving air concentrated here in this Montana county. You’re welcome to come and harvest all the zephyrs, breezes, gales, drafts, wafts, gentle wind, light wind or puff of air. Take your pick. No charge.
Dad Blamed Wind
The wind, the wind, the dad-blamed cursed beastly piercing gales
They whistle o’er the mountain tops with lonesome banshee wails
No man, no woman, child nor beast can stand against its force
Those dreadful scalping zephyrs can blast a cowboy off his horse
Folks walk half-bent, heads hunched down, their hands upon their hats
And if the wind should cease a second, they’re apt to fall kersplat!
Cowpokes standing ‘round a pickup just chewing on their snoose
Are careful not to spit up-wind for fear of freckle juice
Cats and dogs have had their fur sand-blasted off their hides
And trees and plants have branches growing only on one side
Kids get lifted off their feet and blown to Grandma’s digs
And Grandma’s bald because the wind has snatched away her wig
Well, I for one, have had it with the raw and chilling wind
It blows me helter-skelter till I don’t know where I’ve been
When I retire I do not want the trade winds kissing me
No drafts, no puffs, no breezes, please, on my anatomy
Just give me temperature that’s mild and sun that is superb
Where birds and bees don’t lose their wings in gales of ninety per
Just let me bask in flowery bower and wander on green grass
Where the only wind displeasing comes — from someone passing gas. ❖
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