A fever long part of Hill Country life
Has taken me, my daughter, and my wife,
And we cannot escape; the air is rife
With tree-seed cast about into the breeze,
Driven by the wind like a disease
That, lodging in the nose, destroys all ease.
I, long knowing how the fever goes,
Am used to having pollen in my nose,
But in my wife and daughter it arose
And has laid them low or near enough, I fear.
Indeed, infection seeks my daughter's ear--
And the fever wracks the land with every year.
I suffer less than I once did; I hope
That others will come following my trope.