ocasional poetry

The dust is so thick, flying up all around me. my lips are dry and split and the babies cry from the hot and stuffy places inside the wagons. Heavy, tired feet are lifted and dropped all around me. we will never get there. To the green lands, and rich soil, to the cozy homes and happy families...  We have already walked for so long. 

Wagon wheels scatter the trail here where a few were town apart by the now dried up river, the possessions stolen and the family left with nothing... It sends a shiver up my spine. I must face it. I am scared. Scared like everyone else, I don't know how to overcome it and I the dream of the new land is fading. 

I see grass, not the faded bland dead grass that I have stared at for so long but fresh green grass that has grown strong and green and has flowers! The oxen pull at their harnesses and the men turn them out to graze while the children can finally run and play happily. we are here... Happiness grasps me and lifts me up, making my eyes bright and grateful tears drip from my cheeks.