Can'T Lead Them To Water Poem by Mustafa Marconi

Been around these parts awhile
Gone fishing at the creek
Seen Mr. Robinson plant his watermelons
Seen dear grazing out by the barn
Sitting here at nightfall
Staring aimlessly at the sky
Asking only for your hand
To steer my soul in Gods direction
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The lines I’ve used at the old creek
Has reeled in only
A scattered resemblances of interest
The deer graze and graze
Their empty stomachs always hungry
The bread I leave goes untouched
The water at the creek
Feels neither their cold noses
Nor the texture of their tongues

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Been around these parts for a long time now
Seen more deer slaughtered
Then I care to count
Mr. Robinson, hands trembling,
Clothes soaked with a lifetime of sweat
Harvests his watermelons
And takes them to town to barter with
His antlers worn with pride
Though broke and disfigured from fierce and tiresome battles
Turning to see the young bucks
Grazing by the barn, where no grass grows
Miles away from the creek
Connected together by a thin line of bread
Beaten by the rains
Blown violently by the four winds
And now the deer have lost their way

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Mr. Robinson has left for the winter
His pockets swollen from the fruits of his labors
Disappointed, he reconciled himself with the knowledge
That he has done everything he could
To prepare them for a harsh and brutal winter
Sitting here at nightfall
Staring aimlessly at the sky
I ask only for your hand
To steer my soul in God’s direction
To appreciate the guidance He bestows upon us
And to honor the leaders that have come before me