Salve a Child

SALVE A CHILD These Seedlings, tomorrow’s Saplings, by dearth must not droop. A trickle from your coffer, from drought’s Wreckage many could save. For in your senile era, the arbor from their Boughs from the scorching sun you can not evade. From, The soil of nadir To a tilted soil these seedlings I implore you to pick, that green Finery by the fingers of drought torn, By your drizzle could be stitched, And this perennial nudity by the hand of Drought wrought to mirth would falter. From The ravenous vale These seedlings for ravish from Your coffer with gnarled hands beg. Begrudge not your care, for from drought’s Blade they must be saved and from dearth’ Talons must be salved For in these withering hands a glaring tomorrow Berths. These wilting seedlings, a trickle from your Coffer, from the scavenger’s baleful eyes Could eclipse and to the sonorous rhythm Of the wind in chortle would dance.