Dust Clouds

I worry for the harvest.

“Will the rain ever come?”

This choking dust clouds
everything we’ve ever done.

Together we walk the rows,
kicking dirt where nothing grows,
and the lines by my eyes
carry their crop of sorrow.

You looked at me and laughed.

Mirth, a scythe, cutting fast,
sorting wheat from chaff
and reminded me,

“We can do this…”

Fertile earth,
blessed be,
I thank your rains
for granting me
this lone flower
that ‘ever grows
wild and free.

©️ CG Tenpenny, 2018.

3 Comments on “Dust Clouds

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