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Let the wind blow

Gray county Kansas, Eighteen and Seventy-one. It ain’t rained a drop in six weeks. Looks like my crops are gone. Dried up by the sun. Pushed over by the wind. A wind so strong that before to long even the best man bends. Everyone bends down to his knees to that prairie wind. Everyone, everyone but me. So let the wind blow wild across this ground. Let it blow, and just try to knock me down. It will see that I am strong, as many men have found. So let that demon wind blow up against me. I’ll turn it back around. I was born in Alabama, just east of Birmingham. Fought for the southern right cause I am a southern man. But God he did not fight for us and them Yankees they won out. And after Eighteen and sixty-five the north started moving south. And them carpetbaggers didn’t like my kind, uneducated, white and poor. So in April of Eighteen and sixty nine I left Alabama for that great American desert on a homestead claim. Says if I stay here for just five years it all goes in to my name. Just two years left. I done suffered three. Now there ain’t nothing that the devil can do ever going to make me leave. So let the wind blow wild across this ground. Let it blow, and just try to knock me down. It will see that I am strong, as many men have found. So let that demon wind blow up against me. I’ll turn it back around. But sometimes I got to wonder why I even fight for a 160 acres not meant for life. It a 110 and the only shade’s from the swarm of bugs that come to eat your crops away. But there’s something about a piece of land a man can call his own, no matter what worthless stretch of earth you lay your claim upon. So let the wind blow wild across this ground. Let it blow, and just try to knock me down. It will see that I am strong, as many men have found. So let that demon wind blow up against me. I ain’t a giving ground. Let the wind blow.