The harvesting of the cotton continues in the field next door...
As I watch the process, it reminds me of a poem that I wrote...
Young
Women
With Dark Eyes and
Dark Hair
Who are these young women with dark eyes and dark hair,
With beauty that runs so deep, and courage rare?
From what cloth were they cut, and where was it woven?
Who are these young women with dark eyes and dark hair,
With beauty that runs so deep, and courage rare?
From what cloth were they cut, and where was it woven?
Who was the Artist from whose mind the colors were chosen?
Of what fiber is the cloth and thread made,
That forms their true hearts which when they were bade,
By whispers to their souls of service to their country and us all,
Without hesitation bid them answer that call?
The fibers from which those threads took shape,
Were grown by the people of their nation who do not hate.
The seeds were planted in the soil by their fathers.
Then the fibers were collected at harvest by their brothers.
The thread of hope was spun by the hands of their skilled mothers.
None gave heed to the threats of others.
Then they were woven by their sisters, whose lives will be forever changed,
By the steps that they take and the destiny they arrange.
Finally from the Artist's hand, priceless treasure, a gift from Afghanistan,
Came to the people of the world who desire only with honor to stand.
Their mark and place in history their names will take.
When their life's work is made for the peace that lies at stake.
Who are these young women with dark eyes and dark hair,
With beauty that runs so deep, and courage rare?
That forms their true hearts which when they were bade,
By whispers to their souls of service to their country and us all,
Without hesitation bid them answer that call?
The fibers from which those threads took shape,
Were grown by the people of their nation who do not hate.
The seeds were planted in the soil by their fathers.
Then the fibers were collected at harvest by their brothers.
The thread of hope was spun by the hands of their skilled mothers.
None gave heed to the threats of others.
Then they were woven by their sisters, whose lives will be forever changed,
By the steps that they take and the destiny they arrange.
Finally from the Artist's hand, priceless treasure, a gift from Afghanistan,
Came to the people of the world who desire only with honor to stand.
Their mark and place in history their names will take.
When their life's work is made for the peace that lies at stake.
Who are these young women with dark eyes and dark hair,
With beauty that runs so deep, and courage rare?
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