I was three, no bigger than a west Texas tumble weed,
My mother hung the wash out on the line
and wiped the sweat off her brow
with her hand.
An hour later the clothes were frozen.
Blue norther...you can see them coming
a hundred miles away.
Wichita Falls, Texas on the Wichita River.
Moses sat on the mountain
gazing at the promised land.
But it was out of his hands now.
Leaning on his staff that ate the Pharohs two snakes.
...sssssssssssilently a single tear
falls to the ground.
No fence could hold me...I was over or under
A terror at three...run away.
The Police knew me by first name...
The plains of north Texas, jackrabbits, coyotes,
rattlesnakes and all... were home.
Forty years of desert
Till the last man, woman, and child
of Egyptian connection had died
...was such a sacrifice...
Moses was the last to fall
on a mountain called no consequense
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Comments about this poem (Forty Years by Midnights Voice )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Kazi Nazrul Islam
(24 May 1899 - 29 August 1976)
(1330 - 1390)
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