Give Us Our Daily Water
Water: coin of the realm for thirsty plains,
Was once used frugally by us who farmed
To coax a spare living from grass and grains—
A life with not much gained, but not much harmed.
Our windmills sipped the precious aquifer
To fill house barrels and the livestock tanks.
The fields were often dry and never sure.
If God sent rain—and crops—we gave Him thanks.
But farmers now don’t seem to understand
That sucking water out for bumper crops
With scant solicitude for arid land
Means water in the table drops—then stops.
When working land, we humbly take the path
That Nature indicates—or risk her wrath.
—Don Thackrey, Dexter, MI
