THE SAND STORM
By Lowell Otus Reese
We are thirsty, Pedro mio! and the heat waves leap and beat
Where the Spanish daggers quiver in the mighty desert heat,
And the aching eye looks longing from Old Baldy to the east,
Where the Panamint is crouching like some ugly, hidden beast;
’Tis a hell-wind, Pedro mio! and it beats the sandy hail;
And the Yellow Snake is hissing by the old Mohave trail.
Oh, the loneliness of nature when she turns on you her frown!
When you feel no eye upon you, save the fierce sun glaring down,