First Year on the Prairie/Poem/Bette Wolf Duncan

Though blizzards whipped the soddy,

still it rang with vibrant sound.

There was music every Sunday

on its floor of frozen ground.

It was Sunday! It was Sunday;

and our solemn mood turned mellow,

when Matt and Al played violins,

and Lawrence played the cello.

Though the Arctic wind was blasting;

and their misery was profound,

folks gathered every Sunday

and the soddy would resound

with fiddles and with singing—

voices ringing with good cheer—

but intertwining always

with the undertones of fear.

There was fear about the winter.

Their soddies were austere;

their food supplies were meager;

and their suffering was severe.

Their first year on the prairie...

and they’d learned! They would survive!

They’d make it through this winter

and come out of it alive!

They’d learned! And come next winter

they’d chink their soddy tight.

They’d plank the floor; more staples store;

prepare for winter right!

Till then, they’d sing on Sunday,

every Sunday after Mass,

until they’d sing and dance again

upon the green, green grass.

Matt and Al played violins

and Lawrence played the cello;

and the rest would join in singing

till the solemn mood turned mellow,

There was music every Sunday

on the frozen soddy floor;

and the music told their shivering hearts

that Spring would come once more.

© 2010, Bette Wolf  Duncan

This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.