I am the Soil

I am the soil you planted

I am the soil you sang

You are the seed that carries life

Into the heart of man.

I am the weedy desert

I am the shallow soil

And the world’s birds find lodgement here

Come to frustrate your toil.

You who are seed and sower

The only life I know

Dig me down deep and bring your plough;

Water and weed and sow.

That there might be a harvest

Out of the heart of me

Hold back your scythe a longer while

Till I am whole and free.

Drought

This is the dry, dry season, sere and spare

The cracked, bare earth becomes, itself, a prayer.

The heart feels dried down to a baking bone

Where every drop of water dies alone.

The breath of heat has shrivelled up the shade

And trees forget the reason they were made.

Nothing is ample, nothing rich or lush,

The dried grass shrinks, the silence seems to crush.

The soul is gasping, struggling for its breath,

The movement and the effort feel like death.

Rain were a mercy almost beyond prayer

But oh, when mercy falls, all life is there.

And should a little wind stir forth a cloud,

That were enough to be all unfaith’s shroud.