Page:Canadian poems of the great war.djvu/98

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��Main Johnson

One of the editors of The Star, Toronto. Formerly, principal private secretary to the Hon. N. W. Rowell. Born in Hamilton, Ontario. Honour Graduate of the University of Toronto, Eng lish and History Course.

WIND AND THE DUST OF DEATH

F all the playmates Willie Proctor had

His favourite was the Wind.

He liked it to caress him, to blow upon his cheeks,

Or, better still,

To tousle all his curly hair.

His mother noticed him

More vibrant, much more zestful

On those days when the wind blew hard.

Young Proctor was brought up among the foothills of

the Rockies,

Where his father owned a ranch. The lad, when ten years old, Was riding fiery cayuses, Which other children feared. When he was old enough, he took to motor cars, And frightened men and beasts alike, By tearing over the sunbaked trails, As fast and heedless as the wind that he adored.

When William was eighteen,

His father died,

He and his mother left the ranch,

Built a secluded bungalow on mountain slopes,

And there lived quiet lives.

In August of the fateful year,

There came the War.

His mother shuddered,

And began to steel herself for what she felt must come.

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