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.