Waking

Wending through paths of time,

wondering all the while,

watching decades come and 

wither, drying corn in 

weathered fields, crisp, fragile,

wasted harvests, but still,

winters drought loves this crop.

Without it, no forage

would provide a yielding,

without it death would gain.

Waking to this wondering,

wondering at this show,

we see coincidence,

waking mercy, mercy

walking, doe and fawn,

when I smile and I say,

"what do I know, nothing."