This Place

As dark descends on baking fields of green,

As evening’s cool brings on blessed relief,

As storm clouds roll down off the hills between

The sky and me, I’m struck with new belief.

It’s all around me, beauty painted stark,

In browns and greens beneath a hidden moon.

White flashes spitting beauty, as the dark

Night closes in from the west, herald soon

The torrents bringing gift and curse to fields

Awash with nature’s bounty–blessed drink

Or dreaded flood that vitiate the yields

These soldiers need to feed their own. To think,

Out of control, their lot is but to plod,

To look to heaven, pray for help from God.

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