Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Rain & Harvest to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
The river shrank to a ribbon, and the ribbon shrank to a thread,
And the cattle lowed at midday in the dust that they had shed.
The maize leaves curled and yellowed, and the well was running dry,
And the farmer searched the heavens, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky.
The villagers gathered at the shrine, and they sang the old rain song,
With their voices thin and hopeful, and their hopes still burning strong.
They danced the ancient rain dance, though their feet were worn and sore,
And they poured out water offerings from their last and meagre store.
On the fortieth day of waiting, a small breeze stirred the air,
And a cloud the size of a fist rose up in the distant blue and fair.
It was not much, that little cloud, but it carried a promise deep,
That the ones who wait in faith are the ones who finally reap.
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Commentary
A drought tests faith as much as farms. This poem follows a village through forty days without rain and ends with a cloud no bigger than a fist.
“The river shrank to a ribbon, and the ribbon shrank to a thread.” “The maize leaves curled and yellowed, and the well was running dry,” and the farmer searched “the heavens.” The villagers gather at the shrine and “sang the old rain song, with their voices thin and hopeful.”
They dance, and they “poured out water offerings from their last and meagre store.” “On the fortieth day of waiting, a small breeze stirred the air,” and “a cloud the size of a fist rose up.” It is little, but it carries the promise “that the ones who wait in faith are the ones who finally reap.”