Bare earth exposed to the wind
a swirling of dust The particles ascend
Man’s inhumanity to man
Like a choking dust fan
When man stirs up a dust storm
There’s no way to hurry it along
When Man put his hand to the plow
No crop rotation he lacked knowhow
Deep seeded Prairie grass Could have held the roots in place
the man was too proud to admit it, and the dust bowl hit them in the face
Nothing to do but wait for the settling of the dust storm
Much of the land would never return to its original norm
Life is like that dust bowl somedays
You can’t hurry the bad to get to better days
Find a room and sit in a quiet place
Bow your head and cover your face
When the dust settles, and it always will
Patiently wait. God will restore your field
