From underbrush it creeps
along spring's damp ground
crawling, dragging towards light
Then
A crutch with which to achieve up
begins the climb
tendrils grabbing bark
First
a few at the end of the grow
more and more as maturity is gained
and grow moves upwards
Three
Green leaves on of each stalk
waxy, jagged and glistening
Will turn red in autumn
Pretty
But best left alone
should rash and itch
follow the handler's
folly

Course brown fibers of burlap
woven together years prior
rub against weather beaten neck
sometimes shrugged off
sometimes an irritant
pressed by
weight of a bag filled with rice
at times
to heavy to bear
but a small hole
unnoticed
where single grains slide free
to fall into the dust of the track
where they are mixed with dust
and are only noticed by birds
which carry them away
forever
bearer and bag sway, rise and fall
together
as the journey forward goes
each step
each sway
frees kernels from the confines
now in twos and threes
then a steady pour
from shoulder to ground
the hole is noticed
nothing can stem the flow
the bag grows lighter
but sags against back and chest
and is harder to hold
it slides from the shoulder
carried in arms like a small child
inevitably
the last of the grains falls free
glistening white
falls end over end
gleaming in the sun
and is lost with the others
the burlap is empty
the weight and toil is missed
words of anguish
and
the empty sack
is laid in the sea

The deluge is cyclical
and the dry between gets shorter
The rain pours down
Sometimes straight
Sometimes slanted from the left
Sometimes slanted from the right
Sometimes from two directions
Other times from all at once

The only constant?
We can't help but get soaking wet.

After thirty seven years
The grief is mostly gone
yet
today
a poem by another
sparked a thought,
I am ten years older
than my father ever was

A river runs as rivers run
Just where it wants to go
You can build a dam
Canal or trench
But you cannot stop the flow

And if divert it you succeed
by cutting course through stone
there will remain trace
where its been
and the truth of course be known

You can not tell the truth straight out
it simply shant be done
It makes the people scream and shout
and build walls by the ton

But if you lead them there by "chance"
a chance you planned before
they'll grab it first in vict'ry dance
and love you even more

The ignorant are easily led
But by emotion
Not by head

Though not just "over there" you see
But 'round here too
'round you and me

And when you add religion in
The leading's a cinch
Let the games begin