somewhere, the buttermilk clouds
are splitting and spitting
their last effort of a rainy day.

the sun shakes it's petticoats,
fluffs it's warm winds, stretches;
fills the bone-dry west of Texas.

the cracks drink the rain, slurping
all the nutrients, poisions into
the very belly of the Earth.

mankind's markings come and go;
mostly go, as man's prints fade
into the tomorrow of yesterday.

a farmer dies; a family dies;
a child is born; a child grows.
yet, grandma's schedule is full.

07/02/2008

Posted on 07/02/2008
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