Potato / Pathway

Another old one. 12-31-08, 12:48 AM

Tonight, 
I do not see the moon
Shining down upon us.


We sit in our tattered clothing,
Horses rocking us to and fro,
The summer sweat clinging greedily to our skin.


In the morning,
We will wake,
Our Ireland farms still stripped of their labor.


Yes, we rely on that which is gone.
Our potato farms have been claimed,
And the waters shy away.

I lift my eyes to the dirt paths ahead.
A sigh escapes my lips,
And a growl from my gut.