Cold and gray it is, fog and misty too.
Wind is rising,
temps are falling.
Light is fading.
Melting snow has crusted over.
Thin ice on slushy puddles shatters
with heavy angry foot falls.
Impatience is rising,
frustration growing.
And yet, the somber river flows.
Steely cold, no pause, no break,
forever passing humbled houses,
shuttered ‘gainst cold and damp,
home to worried grownups,
children reticent and mum.
Too many the bills, too few the choices.
And all the while, paint is peeling,
larders lean toward empty,
furnaces yearn for fuel.
Trump and Musk and ilk proclaim:
"So what. We are not
our brother's keepers.
What's ours is ours.
This is the land of freedom.
Here you get what you do earn,
or take. Nothing more is due.
A billion we pledge to keep it so.
Only God can change our tune."
What good are profits if empty souls
and hollow lives result?
Ask any farmer and he or she will tell.
The only way to get is to give.
You sow, you work the land,
and then you reap.
In balance, the process lasts
far longer than human's lives.
But rape the land or its unselfish people
and they stop giving back.
And no amount of mean coercion
or false concern
will change that fact.
Those less humble than
folks along this river,
think whence your riches
really do come from?
Everlasting bounty is come
from balanced give and take.
Not ever from exploit
and leave to founder
along the river's bank.
That is the way of nature,
and of He or She
who made it so.
Break the balance and
no billion or trillion
will keep you whole.
Ask any farmer and he or she will tell.
The only way to get is to give.
You sow, you work the land,
and then you reap.
In balance, the process lasts and lasts,
far longer than human lives,
yours or mine.
|
Tuesday, January 14th, 2014
Fultonville
NY
USA
|
