poem24

The Dust

The farmers field full of dust, no water can he find,
The wells are dry, fresh lakes are down,
Can’t bring water out from town,
Crops are dying everywhere, and he is full of despair,
There is no let up to this heat,
No rain in the forecast,
His heart grows heavy with the thought
Of his hard work all is lost,
There are no pastures left for graze,

What will happen there is no hay,
Now will all his stock be gone
How he wonders on and on
As he falls down on his knees
Hands covering his face,
Tears and dust is what his hands now feel,
What has happened to this place?
“Man’s pollution, industry and chemicals,
when will it stop?”

Copyright By Helen Hummel August 10, 2001