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HOPELESS
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COUNTRY POEMS
Hopeless, what a mess.
On the plains.
I can hear the thunder.
It is loud.
Louder than a football game crowd.
There is no sound.
The rain never comes.
There are many pains and few gains.
There is never thunder.
Is being here a blunder.
Hopeless, what a mess.
The grain is not a gain. It is a pain.
The wheat is not neat. It is not a treat.
The wheat is a defeat.
Hopeless, what a mess.
The trains come, but we nothing we make nor create.
There is nothing to take.
No money to make.
Is this fate?
It is a situation we all hate.
Hopeless, what a mess.
My dad is chained to the ground, another solution needs to be found.
My dad is chained to the land.
My dad is chained to the farm.
This is a cause for alarm.
Hopeless, what a mess.
There is a mound of bills, deep into us all it does drill.
In debt, we are, and out of it, we will not get.
