Turning it Around

In a quest for greens
shoots remnant of the rain
into the field following
strips of land unturned

They're falling back
now the sun beating down
the harsh reality of
seasons fused no sigh

My eyes catch small
things, noticing, gazing
over the unmoving to
the quiver skills of scout

And smell, and energy
it took me the path
over to where spirit
had left a living one

It had died not well
not naturally or becoming
of sentience, but of gain
play, cruel and ice cold

The same vibe that hurled
firecrackers and stones
that stole and harassed
that cursed and belittled

This one, though I am
still breathing and the
still one - not
My legs still free to run

Praying for the thirsty
and for the bashed ones
as the heat rises
and fields become holy