The town that was my town; To Valier, Montana, Population 750

Geese bark up the hardluck lake of farmers and farms where the first calves shiver skyward on their hoofbeats. In the flush and husky cloudbank of the town that was my town, my stark home to be old in, all the children roughen in the wind. And now I'm gone I'll go on dreaming willow in a flare of ice, leave this place to people who sing out the mountain mirage - the rocking farms upthrust and there another rising in the light and early air.