We’ll have another, more substantial post up in a few hours – I need to check an item or two at the library first. In the meantime, maybe you’ll enjoy this poem written by 16-year-old Hazel Workman (later Walker, 1902-1980), of Hurricane, Utah, describing another time like the season we are passing through now.
Long weeks ago, in days of old,
When we could walk through town at will,
When those you met were not disguised,
And everything was not so still –
Ah, yes! ’twas little thought we then,
This town so soon would change its ways,
That we should draw into our shells
And hibernate ’till better days.
I speak to no one on the street,
I know them not, though close I’ve passed,
Each face is covered well with gauze.
(Pride must have come to them at last.)
They won’t allow a transient near,
They guard the road the whole day thru,
All just because some few in town
Have taken down with Spanish “Flu.”
How glad I’ll be when this is done,
When we can show our face once more,
And take up customs, thick with dust,
And step with ease outside the door.