The People the Land and the Drought
The old man looked at his hands
Scarred and callused as the work demands
He had bent his back building things
A weathered brow is what hardship brings
He tilled the soil behind the plough
From morning till night each lesson learning how
Growing his crop with his own hands
The sun and rain a part of his plans
The woman he married was of pioneer stock
Who knew the worth of not watching the clock
She made a home to rest their heads
At the end of each day in their bed
But the rain can be fickle on the land
And does not come at your command
So cattle and sheep die one by one
And crops fail baking in the sun
So we sit and wait watching the azure blue
Wanting rain to break the drought too
But scars run deep in the soil and soul
To return to what once was is their only goal.
© Paul Warren Poetry
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