It was late spring as I recall
when pieces of the sky began to fall
and tore down the fields of corn.
Chunks of ice, crystal frozen air
crashed down left a mark everywhere
early that pristine morn.
I heard the bombardment atop the roof
in an hour's time gone was the proof
that anything had taken place.
Yet the trees and every farmer's crop
had been shredded as the sky did drop
deadly missiles from up in space.
Sorrow rose deep down in my throat
as the sun came out and began to gloat
at the damage which was there.
A veritable feast for the shrouded ghost
who had staged the scene, became the host
in the year of our despair.
The plague came hard and hit the land
crushed the hopes and dreams we planned
and in time it broke our souls.
Still we replanted and prayed for fair days
repented of our sins, mended our ways
and acknowledged He who controls.
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