New
Mexico,
The
Wind
Blows
In
A
Crust
Of
Desert
Dust,
And
Hopefully,
Our
Contraband
Lawn
Grows.
It’s
A
Reckless
Life
Out
Here,
Mountain
High,
Dangerously
Dry,
And
Useless
Labor
To
Discipline
The
Steady
Winds,
But
In
Spring,
The
Futile
Task
Never
Ends.