September Snow Poem by Dennis Lange

It's Bastrop, Texas, where the Lost Pines grow -
Strays, stragglers, orphaned by none that we know,
But huddled, hold together, flourish well;
Draw men to verdant beauty's midst to dwell.

In Bastrop County where the Lost Pines grow,
September brought warm flakes of falling snow;
A sooty storm of sullen ashes fell
And drifted downward from a fiery hell.

In burning Bastrop where the Lost Pines grow,
The houses burned, and tears, like rivers, flow
For charred remains that look like blackened toast,
For loss and loved ones who gave up the ghost.

In burned out Bastrop where the Lost Pines grew,
The fire, like Sherman, ruthless, marching through,
Spared not the pines, the park carved by the state,
But left black sticks still standing tall and straight.

In Bastrop where the Lost Pines now are lost,
With dreams and homes and lives, an awful cost,
There is a moment brief, while embers cool,
Like waiting for the bell to start to school.

Because, in Bastrop, the Lost Pines will grow
And from the ashes, green shoots quickly show,
And rise again as orphans raised by God
Where they have lived for years on Texas sod.

Before, in Bastrop, the Lost Pines e'en grow,
Those Texans with the heart of Alamo
Will wipe the black and tears from off their face,
Build new with jutted jaw and with God's grace.