In the meadows,
far from the ghettos,
the seeds were ingrained
when spring rained.
The nurturing seeds began to
sprout and grow,
in the richness of
sunlight and water.
Then came a drought
and the roots could nurture no more.
Waiting for a light of hope that never came
the seeds died.
The sounds of vagrant rodents,
squeaking,
hissing,
grinding,
and an odor coming from the feral house.
As a peal of thunder moves in,
it begins raining decay.
Lead from crumbling bricks, pealing paint,
drifts toward the openings.
Shadows wandered across the
cornfield,
lost in the maze of pathways,
far from their abandoned houses.