About the Author

One of Don Welch's earliest memories is walking, never riding, to town and watching his shoes disappear in the dust. He grew up among the Dust Bowl poor, some of whom, despite withering poverty, had lark songs in their brainstems. Among his father's people were farmers and great athletes; among his mother's, readers and operatic voices. That kind of balance, he hopes, is reflected in his verse. After years of being a poet-in-residence, his university gave him what it thought was the perfect retirement gift, an ornamental pencil with no lead.