"Oh, Mr. God I need a han’, lik’ ta raise family by some fertile
lan’. Black an’ rich, deep loam place, Oh Mr. God, I’m ina race: Short of
coin, none a dime, this I pray: be so kin’."
"There, Mr. Farmer, short of race, rests a narrow, farmers place. Crystal
waters, briny marsh, cool the summers, never harsh.
"Oh, Mr. God will you listen to me? Worsen piece of lan’ I ever
did see! Plain simple clay of the red’n kind, won’t grow a thing for me an’
mine.
"Listen Mr. Farmer" said Almighty God, "got the best recipe for this
type of sod ... for clumps an clods near a Carolina Lake, prescribes a shovel, a hoe and a
rake. Best the swamp, the bog an’ pine, states the recipe, must drain the brine!
Begin with a season, add a portion of toil, toss an’ turn in a mixture of soil. A
splash of rainfall, a pinch ye take, of summer’s sunshine and then ye bake...
...Follow to the letter and thy will see, why man keeps his faith in me!"
Mr. Farmer began by the Carolina lake; had a shovel, borrowed a hoe and rake.
Cleared the swamp, the bog an’ pine. Followed the recipe to the very line. Began with
a season, added a portion of toil, tossed and turned in a mixture of soil , A splash of
rainfall, a pinch he took, of summer’s sunshine and then he cooked...
Blowed the squall that broke an’ breaked the land, tumble the crops, swept
clean the pockets of farmer man...
"Oh! Mr. God what have thy done! I’ll have not with which to giv’ my
son!. No grain, no corn, no staples: Where? Oh! Mr. God can you hear?"
"Well Mr. Farmer do have faith, give thy measure before thy take! Bundle thy
patience I gifted thee, an walk rut furrows and thy will see, adequate grain and corn in
husk, enough for a winter’s chilled dark dusk. When spring arrives upon the beak,
squawked the jay for seeds it seeks, you’ll plant and plant and sow you will, and
birth my soil upon thy till..."
Soon prospered he and on the land there grew, huge bumper crops, some old, some
new...
Now he sits the rocker his golden years, watching them grow, them apples an pears;
as drafts of air, cooled circulation, of century planted oaks and evaporation, swirl
‘round mint juleps, tall the glasses iced, that quench his longing and the flies
entice. And the tingling, tangling, occasional dong, copper clad wind chimes sing their
Creators song; their boastful caress soothes musty ears, as he looks to the land he
humbled dear
Across expansive wide the verandah sweeps, the stately home so tall an’ deep;
on the edge of the lake of granite stone, beamed an’ braced, notched an’ honed,
an’ creatures smother a brackish glade, lush the sanctuary—hand dug made:
leather the gators frozen still, as June bugs in November’s steady chill, an’
soak the sun, bellies deep, lumped with catfish swiftly reaped, when dived the lake fresh
they caught, rest an’ wonder with out a thought, an’ view the graceful gaggled
geese, soft upon the water as new shorn fleece, an’ flowers wild the butterflies
swarm, prancing, dancing, flutter in storm, of color, energy, beauty keen, mirrored the
waters glistening sheen, An’ cows blare calves an’ farm dogs yap, gleeful
merriment as the roosters nap,
An’ crisp vast fields teem shades of green, corn an’ fodder an’ snap
pole beans, an’ the red of barnyard tractors race, to do-dads, homemade, halyard
braced, smoke sheds, pig pokes, wooded stalls, an’ windmills twisting winds up
tall...
Oh Mr. GOD of me and mine! I followed your recipe to the very line! Though ole’
the knees , so hard they bend, sore the muscles ,I shant pretend; though callused the
hands, wrought with pain, the joy my heart, I won’t refrain: My love, My faith, My
dignity, For You whom banished my poverty...
