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BIG BLONDE SWEDE, by                    
First Line: Rough shod they came
Last Line: Lar and nor and thorkel.


Rough shod they came
all the way from Medicine Hat,
riding golden on the mustangs of morning.
Among them were the big blond Swedes:
Lar and Nor and Thorkel.
Men fearless of the storm, the blast,
the cold-shivered cry of the coyote,
disease and famine, everything.
They brought with them Swede women
with gold-wire braided hair;
those schooled in the sagas of fiords
and dragon ships
and poppies of the midnight sky.
They passed
like crows in the humdrum of passage,
hub-deep in mire,
with kettles hanging
and old blankets flapping a song.
At trail's end they picked a skerry spot
and began whetting axes,
toppling the timbers,
working like the first concrete builders,
the beavers.
They lived on
toiling and singing,
tucked away in hungry shacks of desolation
where sometime little cities clung
to rail and water routes.
Today by Minnesota's waters
they tell how their forebears came;
those of the midnight sky,
the big blond Swedes:
Lar and Nor and Thorkel.





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