July 25, 1942

The colors are changing on the plateaus,
Autumn must be near.
Upon my prisoner’s tray
Red sit the tomatoes.

September 19, 1942

The year’s at the autumn
And the day’s at the morn,
Morning’s at eight,
The sky’s blue,

Lolo shines white,
God’s in His heaven—
All’s right with the world.
        —With apology to Robert Browning

January 14, 1943

Alone in a makeshift furrow
I gaze at the ceiling.
We leave and enter the barrack
reading a thermometer.
When sun shines and snow flowers

scatter, it is three o’clock.
With ink brush I draw
winter mist of the Missoula mountains.

December 23, 1943

My third Nativity
in stockade ground.

December 28, 1943

With a prayer for my beloved wife
the year slowly ends.