Wet Desert Hope
Sad mother ... no son
Went off to war, never come home
No phone call, no letter come
Flowers planted in the garden,
came spring never sprung
Sad, sad mother ... misses her only son
Navajo mother,
raised under the desert sun
Peaceful woman,
forgave the white man
for what he done
When she forsook God in the midst of a long famine,
that selfsame day
desert rain came pouring down
Now once again, the desert sky has no rain cloud
To beg God to forgive her sin,
for the life of her son, she ain’ too proud
She adopted the peace of the white man,
then asked her son not to go fight in his war
But true to his name, Running Spirit ran
Now, in the desert of her soul,
it’s raining tears in a downpour
Struggling through her long famine of pain,
she keeps clinging to wet desert hope
Sad, sad, sad mother ... no son
Holding on strong ...
but for how long ...
to her last hope
Sits in a rocking chair at home
with a gun on her lap ... and a handwritten note:
“My tears, they could drown the sun,
but I wait for the desert rain to still come
But should the day come when I lose my last hope,
it’s my choice: I choose the gun ... not the rope”
Sad, sad, sad, sad mother
... no son, no son, no son — no sun
Waiting alone, so long, in darkness by the phone,
listening for his voice after each singing ringtone
The rope of despair
keeps trying to choke off all her air
Still, she’s holding on strong
trying her best to cope ...
But each passing day
gets closer to feeling the final tightening of the rope —
yet for now, she rests the gun on the lap of her hope
Her tears they drown the sun
with wet desert hope
Written last on the note:
“Forgive me, son ...
if you come home, and I’m gone”
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017
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