The Well Runs Dry

Wasn't always one to live off the land,

Not like my father.

But here the roots spread deep,

The earth is rich and fertile;

A thriving place for anything looking to grow,

With just a little love and nurture.

.

Wasn't ever one to get love and nurtured,

Not from my father.

But here he dedicated himself;

he grew vegetables, planted by his father before him,

Vegetables that kept his mind sharp and his eyes keen.

.

Before now, I was somewhat of a rolling stone,

Not like my father.

Here he was committed;

He even married once, and with this wife planted fruits,

Fruits that kept him kind and sweet and his heart satisfied.

.

I have always tried to be self sufficient,

Just like my father.

Here the land depended on him;

He dug out a well, lined every stone with his bare hands,

Stones that gave him a solid foundation, for his land and for himself.

.

But I am not

Just like my father.

Here isn't where he spent all of his time;

He lived to experience life, planted seeds in foreign fertile lands,

Seeds he hoped would grow, tall and strong, to represent his legacy.

.

So here i am, on the land

Of my father's.

Where the vegetables will sharpen my mind and my senses,

The fruit will sweeten me and fill my heart with a love so foreign yet familiar.

Here I stand tall and strong, but still I fear of failure

.

Because the well runs dry

And I am not my father.

Here the air is still, the fruit falls off its trees

To the dusty bed where sprouts of buried vegetables lay dehydrated.

Here I fall to my knees, staring down into the darkness that once held the life my father gave this land.

.

And into the well, fell a tear

For my father.

And here I will stay, until I fill my father's well.

Until i can understand how to dedicate myself, how to savor commitment,

Until my father's land can depend on me.

Until I can plant my own seeds,

Seeds I hope will grow, tall and strong

.

Just like my father.