Great plains dust blew so fierce,
In the Dirty Thirties before,
The topsoil turned to dust storm clouds,
That buried farms to the core.
The farm implements abandoned,
Stood like sculptures in waste,
The families packed everything,
On Route sixty-six in haste.
The dust bowl was a tragedy,
Of wind and drought combined,
Great plains dust carried away,
The futures of many kinds.
CC0 License
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