White Winds Wash The World


White winds wash the world

White winds whip down flat.

Living streams bend in the eddies.

Roses and ripples and hushed sounds break.


And the face of the earth is pressed down flat.

Trees stoop with it; beams bend.

Shoulders slope with it; backs break.

And the world is flat, is flat, is flat.

The end of the world is flat.


© Russ Lewis May 1965