In sod huts bent against the endless breeze.
Our families were enough; they could engross
All our attention, and they could appease
Our every need. The older taught the young,
The parents handed down what they had learned,
And everything was good enough among
The growing family as the seasons turned.
In those days farms were few and far between.
A neighbor was a good ways down the road--
So, often spoke of, and yet seldom seen--
And strangers never troubled each abode.
But if we won the West, wasn't the point
To not live thus? The time is out of joint.
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