First Posted 24-Sep-2014
At the end of the road,
Down behind the house,
Go further, beyond the hay barn,
Further still, past the stables,
A rundown shack, something like a toolshed.
By its faltering walls,
The laughter of children flitters
Like spring breeze blown butterflies.
The air full of work songs,
The name of Jesus marking the downbeat,
Someone named Lovely, another Grace,
In sackcloth spinning honey from combs.
Off in the distance, Pappa, called Justice,
Behind the plow, readying the field for corn.
I, Mercy, walked the other way some years ago,
Mercy, son of Justice, to seek a better life
Only to find my nose wanting
The smell of greens on the stove.
My ears missing the downbeat.
I may wander again
Today it’s good to be walking along.
The laughter pitching high to delight
As the kids see me on cow path
Run toward me to greet me,
The battle fought, the work done,
Home and cotton picking ahead of me.At the end of the road,
Down behind the house,
Go further, beyond the hay barn,
Further still, past the stables,
A rundown shack, something like a toolshed.
By its faltering walls,
The laughter of children flitters
Like spring breeze blown butterflies.
The air full of work songs,
The name of Jesus marking the downbeat,
Someone named Lovely, another Grace,
In sackcloth spinning honey from combs.
Off in the distance, Pappa, called Justice,
Behind the plow, readying the field for corn.
I, Mercy, walked the other way some years ago,
Mercy, son of Justice, to seek a better life
Only to find my nose wanting
The smell of greens on the stove.
My ears missing the downbeat.
I may wander again
Today it’s good to be walking along.
The laughter pitching high to delight
As the kids see me on cow path
Run toward me to greet me,
The battle fought, the work done,
Home and cotton picking ahead of me.