PPOW: "Droughts of Our Own"

I’ve mown down the weeds or should I say

The brown patches of parched grass

That have so ill spoken of the sun’s rays.

The downtrodden perennials once having proudly displayed

Nature’s choice colors with crowning glories of bloom,

Finally surrendered to the sun’s demand.

The dry, cracked ground pled for downfalls of rain

To quench its thirst ridden belly only to have its coyote like yelps

Blown to the wind while overhead, vulturine birds drowning in greed,

Circle around the helpless deceased carrion below

Soon claiming ownership of its remains

Before my shovel could scoop up death.

I downplayed my grief long enough to try again,

But the vulturine ones had flown away with the carcass.

As in life, I’ve seen the painful frowns of sadness on the faces

Of clowning comics eerily trying to make others laugh

Only to find them later, downcast, sad, parched; enduring life’s season of drought.

I’ve grown accustomed to the harshness of life’s drought

In my own life as the townsfolk and I have shared in the sorrow

Of helplessly watching the vultures of humanity prey on the weak,

By having thrown their good works to the proverbial dogs.

Downhearted though, as the droughts of life have made us feel,

We cannot deny the joy of the downpouring of the rain of kindness

Extended to us, from one whose life has known a drought of his own.

© 07 Autumn Farrington