Meg Hutchinson Yea Tho We Walk
Cold morning in the Midwest, winter earth in a wedding dress Sun creeping over those blue angels of death So much corn and loss and God, hold the Good Book tight For fear the fields will swallow you at night Landing low over the prisons, Omaha at Eppley field Inmates down in the courtyard, so close that I can feel So much rage and hope and grief, and this dream of getting free Fueled by the sound of airplanes as they leave Oh my friend, is that your hand in mine? This valley grows darker each time Oh my friend the soul seems made from such a thread No matter how it tears it always tries to mend Seems death is my new neighbor, he watches me in my garden His silhouette in the window so terrible and handsome If I turn away, or if I watch him carefully Will I not fall in love today? Oh my friend is that your hand in mine... Do unto others, love thy brother Yea tho we walk tho we walk
