I stood outside today,

the wheat fields were my gentle sway,

there was hard rain fell all morning,

and I figured it to be tears for our mourning.

I imagined a corn field in the midwest,

where a little boy has been laid to rest,

not with tender desire,

more the actions of a liar.

I have periodic crying spells

when my heart in the silence of my home swells,

I think of all the children

lost in the chaotic evil of this cauldron.

This morning I chose to return to the fields,

to feel the breeze sway the crops, the august yields,

I was thankful in the most horrific manner,

to know such a beautiful young boy did matter.

In the horror of Satan’s grasp upon our soul,

there is this field, in Jacob’s life, his spirit whole.