Washita River
When the Oklahoma sun glares hot overhead
The Washita River, through its gulch of red,
Trickles slowly along on its tortuous way
Through Clinton, Anadarko and Chickasha,
From the Cheyenne Hills and the Texas plains,
Where the hot winds blow and it seldom rains
Throught the C. And A. county and the Kiowa
Clean down to Red River and the Chickasaw
Through windswept prairies and lonely sandhills,
To the tree-bordered valleys where coolness distills.
When the spring rains come and the winter snows thaw,
It's a different story - the Washita.
Then the swollen river roars down with a flood
Turning fertile farm lands into swirling mud,
And riding the waves of its mighty crest,
Like cattle stampeding or stallions abreast,
Come branches and trunks of uprooted trees
Where an hour before one crossed it with ease.
It goes rip-roaring on its ravaging way,
And man counts his losses with gloom and dismay.
By Laressa Cox McBurney
Published in Always The Prairie in 1949
