Village boy Impressions

The crops never thrive in untendered fields Neither the millet nor the cowpea Can stand the wild tares Nor the parched nor the cloggy field.  But even on God's loamy earth,  Much must be spent to make  The maize and the sorghum bloom.  Much must be given,  For much to be harvested; All have to be weeded and seeded Some have to be watched and watered And many others mulched and manured,  Least they wither and die.  There is no joy for the sluggard.  It is a world of labour From farm to fork.  Could it be we weren't planted deep enough,  Or we neglected to nurture the shoot?  What might have been a bumper field Is become a parched land For nothing untendered can prosper.  Yet we sowed wildly and sparingly: And some seeds fell among the rocks And died unappreciated and unpraised.  Many more fell among the thorns And were pierced with divergent cares.  Still others by the road side fell And the mouths that eat salt and pepper  Have devoured those; Spreading their poo across the glo

  When the day unfolds and the sun begins to smile, When light spurts in the east and the wind begins to stir, And all the living awake in wonder and delight, I rise with eager hope to contemplate your love! When the warming sun stretches forth over the fields,  When leaf and blossom with fragrance fill the air,  And the birds their morning hymn of praise intone, I hasten from my lair that I may behold your beauty. When golden noon comes and all beasts shelter seek,  When the wind is at rest and sweat is on the brow,  And beneath the blazing roofs the kids must retire, I sit and muse upon your beauty and my heart is glad! When the sun is in the west and wind returns from the north;  When the farmer in field with longing gazes at his road home, And the labourer observes his weary day draws to fruition, I hasten the sun to his grave with longing for thee. When light and beauty is in the west, and leaf and blossom fall, When eventide hastens, and darkness must waning