They would crawl out of tents and shanties.

breath sending up swirls of steam

hands and faces flushed red with cold.

Men and boys, women and daughters on hands and knees

planting life deep into unspoiled earth.

The men, crouched down on haunches

thrust hard hands

into black soil and looked to the sky:

Please God just a little rain and sun,

not too much of either one

please make this harvest a bountiful one

They would come out of their homes

Men and boys, women and daughters still on hands and knees

planting the future in a lush, green sea

The men, crouched down on haunches

thrust hard hands into black soil. And looked to the sky:

Please God just a little rain and sun,

not too much of either one

please make this harvest a bountiful one

Tents and shanties, villages to towns

Towns to cities

and men and boys, women and daughters

do not ever

get their hands dirty

and no one ever

talks to God anymore.