Greg Budig 2021
The sun scowls
red against the
rose colored dawn.
It has barely
risen and it seems
angry and ominous.
No sign of rain,
not even a chance.
Parched and broken
the grass has gone to
rest. Even the scraggly,
tough weeds look sick.
Haze settles over
everything around noon.
The sky is clear but
not blue. It is as lifeless
as the stone filled river.
Barely a trickle remains.
A farmer casts his gaze
across the yellowing
field. Soybeans huddle
sadly near the soil.
So much effort planted
into this ground.
Faith is so easily
shaken. You stare upon
everything you've worked
for as it shrivels and
dies in the hardened
and lifeless soil.
As a man of God
you feel abandoned.
So many words spoken
in silence, but still there is
no rain. No relief, why
have you forsaken me?
He turns away from the
withering fields and walks
slowly. He has said his piece.
In the distance the sky darkens
as the gentle thunder begins
to rumble across the plains.
The End
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