I knew him to wave,
he liked the way I played piano.
The newspaper said when Haydon first came
he could see only grass,
grass and wild horses and wolves roaming.
Then folks moved in and sod got busted
and bushels of wheat turned the plains to gold,
and Haydon P. Nye
grabbed the Oklahoma Panhandle in his fist
and held on.
By the time the railroad came in
on land Haydon sold them,
the buffalo and the wild horses had gone.
Some years
Haydon Nye saw the sun dry up his crop,
saw the grasshoppers chew it down,
but then came years of rain
and the wheat thrived,
and his pockets filled,
and his big laugh came easy.
They buried Haydon Nye on his land,
busted more sod to lay down his bones.
Will they sow wheat on his grave,
where the buffalo
once grazed?
January 1935