Old Father Ben upon his bed
Sons gathered round, his daughters with their tears stuck in their heads
All will be shooed away if shed
Grenadine’s heart now cracked in two
Ventricles whisper and stand in circles wondering what to do
Who else will pump the blood on through?
Oh Gardener, no please don’t go
Who’s left to lead us?
Who’s left to heed the raven when it crows?
The sun is rising
The seed’s been sown
Just one more day
Just please don’t leave us here all on our own
Strength of an ox, hands of the plow
Mountains and valleys make up the furrowed landscape of his brow
Anger has filled the cracks in now
A ghostly breath slips down his beard
Cadavers wrists would shake a fist at his curses and fears
He hasn’t heard from them in years
And the children all have serpents in their hair
Singing hallelujah hymns wrought with despair
And the preacher and the wife exchange a stare
Have their longs walks brought this on?
Dare they steal away to mourn?
These four wooden walls creak as they disapprove
They contemplate leaning back to drop the roof
How could any creatures thoughts be so aloof?
That they’d ignore all the proof
That they’d sweep away the truth
Coyote’s feast has filled the air
Their vengeful lust marks death upon the house with broken stairs
No joy will ever last in there.
The dawn has reared it’s unwelcome head
Who’s left to work?
Who’s left to harvest and keep this stead?
Let’s hope they all revere the dead.
© 2010 Drover Shy. All rights reserved.