I wish I were a river
Self-powered, steady and true.
A force of nature between my banks,
No puny arm can undo.
Instead I am a water row
Furrowed by the corn.
The water starts right down the row
Then hits some leaves, so worn.
Papery leaves diverting my path!
I’m ashamed to admit such failing.
My walls are porous, mounds of dirt—
They breach at the tiniest draining.
But over time, these walls will harden,
My floor will become like cement.
I’ll use these puny arms to fix
The holes where the water went.
I’ll never be a river,
Abraham or Moses, filled with might!
But if I can keep my walls built up–
The corn, my corn, will thrive.