Famine

A famine is coming, feel it blowing in the air. Look at the fields before me laid bare. Clock's ticking. what to do? The more I stare, the less time to spare. Plant the seeds, preparing for a feast little saplings in the ground, confined To the rain and wind, my fate resigned Grab a gun, hunting for a beast shoot into the dark, aiming blind shooting nothing but blanks in my mind These saplings may not sprout in time These beasts may only catch a dime Will my work reward me an hors d'oeuvre or will my fate be to starve? Darker and darker nights approach restless, restlessly separating the miracle from the hoax ideally, idealistically Buy the hardiest seeds Claim the fattest breeds But what will kill me faster, this hunger Or this mind wishing for nothing more than slumber Yet never forget Though joys and troubles rarely cease Once this famine passes you may sleep in peace Your saplings strong, now bearing seeds Your meat cellar full to your needs Then, till the next famine greets you may sleep in peace