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. ❖