The faith of a child

This is the first poem I’ve written in a long time and it’s unedited and lacks form.  But I’m not into postmodernism, I assure you.

I’ve been ill with a fever all day and mother looks so scared
She’s given me all she has and I’ve only gotten worse
She put me to sleep just now and bid me good night.
She need not worry

While I slept I dreamed the most wonderful dream you’ll ever have
He told me I would be alright

Rain
Rain (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn_BE_BACK_on_10th_OCT)

And I believed him

Oh, foolish, foolish child
that because the sun rose yesterday and the day before
it must come again tomorrow
that since winter came this year and last
it must come again next year
that he speaks the truth today
and must do so tomorrow

But last year the rains came till the corn was this high
And it was so all the years before
yet this year there is no rain

Yes, child. not all that is will always be
You grew this year and last, but someday you will not
Grandfather’s goat gave milk until last year

But he promised

Rain
Rain (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn_BE_BACK_on_10th_OCT)

And his words captured my heart
I never hard anything so sweet
And his eyes
It was true, I tell you
He said it will be well. I believe

Dear child, your feelings are true, but they lie

No. It is like the day I met Amala
Our eyes met and I saw him
I saw the spirit in him
And his words were truth
He said it will be well. It will be well.

The rain will not come

But father is certain
He broke the soil last week
And bought the seed yesterday
And sowed it all day today

The rain will not come

I awoke feeling worse than when I slept but with joy I tiptoed to the door to listen to the most wonderful sound. It was raining.

Perhaps a day will come when the sun no longer comes
and the corn no longer grows
and winter never returns
perhaps I will be like little Billy, as hot as fire in the evening, and cold in the ground at night
Perhaps the rain will cease and father’s crops wither and die
Perhaps things change

But, mother, maybe he is not like them at all
Maybe all things we know change but he does not
Wouldn’t that be grand?

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Tracy

I’m Tracy

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