The Cocky's Plea

I didn't know what to write this morning so I thought I'd put up a poem I wrote at the end of 2010. I actually wrote it while I was over here in the West so I though It was kinda fitting.

The Cocky’s Plea

A dry creek.

A sunbaked plain.

A tank with no water left to leak.

An empty drain.

A twisted gate.

A crackly, crispy plant.

A late summer’s date.

A sheep dog’s thirsty pant.

The sun upon us beats,

From the mockingly blue sky.

Relentless with it’s destructive heat,

Causing life to die.

A cocky shakes his head.

He stares at what he sees:

His family stands in the old creek bed,

Hot, dry sand up to their knees.

With a sigh he turns,

And sights the bone dry lands.

What the yellow gas-ball burns,

Is a waste of his own hands.

What took him years to grow,

Is destroyed in one foul sweep. 

The heat upon them forces woe,

But they cannot sit and weep.

A gently hand upon his arm is laid,

His lovely wife whispers low.

“We are alone, tis what I bade.

We must do the thing we know,

Let us bow to him above.

He who controls the rain and sun,

Who’s earthly name is Love.”
So man and wife knelt as one,

Upon the crispy weed.

The farmer then petitioned first:

“Lord, you know our need.

As the cattle die of thirst,

Our kids grow week for food.

Heed now the urgent plea,

And save our little brood.

There’s no way out that we can see,

Excepting by your might.

Help us or we die”
The Lord had seen their plight,

And he watched them from on high.

But as he did not cause the rain,

He sent them on their way

Across the dry terrain,

Till they found a place to stay

Where welcome was assured

And where water ran were ‘ere they could roam.

But they wondered at the Lord,

Why he sent them from their home.

And way back East,

A fire raged.

It overcame man and beast,

And with it’s heat engaged

It’s fuel demolished by the drought.

It quickly found the house,

It relished on it’s walls, no doubt.

All was cooked except the mouse 

And the family safely out of reach.

Now when the rains had come again,

The cocking and his wife and kids returned.

Wildflowers and grass now blossomed on the plain.

But when they saw the house was burned,

The wife she cried in praise:

“We wondered but you knew the best!

Now we see your plan through the haze.

You knew and so you sent us west,

To move us from the fire’s path.

We praise you Lord and thank you just the same.”

They set to work to clean the aftermath.

All worked hard, to the child that was lame,

And when a house stood again,

And they sheltered there once more,

The creek roared form all the rain,

And they gathered near the door.

The youngest child to her father snuggled close.

“I thank thee Lord the most.”
And drifted off to sleep.

And the clouds resumed their teary weep.

 

          - Katlyn Bailey, 2/11/2010