My Spring Poem by Trevor Toews

When the rain won't fall from the yellow sky
And the last thin cloud goes twirling by
And the land where I live is dry, dry, dry
There's still a hallowed place where I
Can go for a drink,
To weep or to think,
To sigh or sing,
My Spring.

When the neighbors get tense, when they quarrel and fight
The ditch rider shuts the canal gates tight
And the courts of law take my water right
I still have my spring
And to me, that really is everything.
My Spring.

There I can go at the end of the day,
Cool my head, wash the toil away,
There where there are no fees to pay
To that patch of green,
That bursting scene,
I am always welcome to go and stay
My Spring.

I live in a desert, but why should I care?
I know that the water will always be there,
For it comes to me from the deep somewhere,
And it's more than enough,
When the going is rough,
When the reservoir's empty, the wells are dry,
More than enough for my cattle and I,
My Spring.

It gives and it gives and that's why I sing,
In this verdant oasis I'm rich as a king,
And to me, that really is everything,
My age-old, bountiful,
Half-told, wonderful,
Ice-cold, beautiful Spring.
My Spring