THE LONELY MEN

THE LONELY MEN

Their little dark houses still dotted the prairie
when I was growing up

They all seemed to cling to the soil as if their
life force had all been used up in the long and
difficult transplanting, and they could hang on
but no longer grow

Or they stood alone and surrounded by sadness
and the small and smaller markers of what had
fallen to the reaper’s scythe

Their roots loosened year after year by the hot
winds and the deep frosts they became more a
and more brittle

Until one by one
they broke off like tumbleweeds
and were gone