The dustbowl: Lewis and I

10 years ago, America was dry. Hard as a rock, Covered in dust. Like powdery snow. Sand whirled around, dust storms. Crops were dead, buried alive. Because of these dust storms, people had to hide in there houses. Of course, Black Tuesday was not great either, the stocks plummeted so bad. My family, Thank the gods, was not affected. We were farmers, But the next ten years? We were always hungry. My father fled, with me and my mother, The only ones, out of a family of 12, That survived. My mother was devastated, burying her children in the Caking dust. She could not fled her children like that. Dead or alive. She decided to stay, And I have not seen her since.

It is know only me and my father, And were on a Campbell Soup Truck. We snuck in, Resting our tired feet.

But this is only the beginning of my Tale.