Within the sacred text
We scour to find grain.
The potential for life, sustained, renewed.
And we find grass and weeds
Enough to choke an ox.
We seek the seed to plant
So the harvest comes full.
Our anger rises
As we find only fodder
And it still green and growing.
Where is the grain;
Enough to serve and plant?
Finally we lay our bodies in the dewy carpet
Exhausted from the empty search.
Perhaps only then shall we find
The grain is in the head
The head is on the grass
The grass is at our hand.
Enough to fill a dream.
All is well, all is well.
- D. A. Weesner
