Poem Edit

I don’t know where the old storm calls
Down along the Oklahoma Strip,
But underneath the cold black river there
This will be my final trip.
They scolded me, spat on me,
And said that I was blind,
I had to go, I told them all!
There was someone I had to find...
Who it was, I did not know—
But I heard her softly in my dreams,
Golden hair, clothes threadbare,
Silk dress ripping at the seams.
She’s in my dreams, I told them all
Before I went to where the old storm calls.
I had nothing left, my family gone,
And here I have nothing at all,
But my memory of her.
But she, singing her songs in dreams
Of long summer days gone by—
With a tune in my head by the black riverbed
Where I go to die.
Her name is lost to me
Down along the stride
Of the Oklahoma Strip.

Meaning Edit


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