Dust Bowl of the 1930s

If we live long enough, we all dry up and blow away.
Global warming may speed the process.

Everything I hoped for,
is blowing in the wind.
What have I done to deserve this,
have I sinned?

A hot wind blows,
day and night.
No one knows,
just what our plight.

The grass grows brown,
and the trees grow weak,
do you not know,
of what I speak?

Mariah, Mariah,
why have you come?
You were so cold,
when I was young.

When we raced,
before the fall.
When we chased,
the mighty all.

Now your companionship,
it's too hot to touch.
I long for those days,
I long so much.

But everything is shriveling,
before my eyes.
We all have our springtime,
and everything dies.

So wind blow me up,
over the trees.
This frail skeleton,
flapping in the breeze.

For ashes to ashes,
and dust to dust.
My ashes to the wind,
I trust, I trust.

Copyright 2011 © Ronald W. Hull

6/11/11