Brian Laidlaw

Poet | Songwriter | Educator

Jeremiad

 

Where the storm clouds go

You better go a-chasin’

Cause the lake has got so low

I can see the bottom of the basin

And all we’ve got for thunder is the beating of the drum—

There’s gonna be a year when the rain won’t come

 

Now they’re dry as cotton,

They’ve come from near and far

Just to see the fish bones rotten

On the bed of the reservoir

The sycamores are silent, the cicadas have ceased to hum—

There’s gonna be a year when the rain won’t come

 

Maybe this is it.

 

You’re sucking stones

And you’re asking god

Won’t you turn my bones

Into a divining rod

But no matter how you pray, no matter where you’re from—

There’s gonna be a year when the rain won’t come

 

Maybe this is it.

 

Your lips are bleedin’

Your eyes are crying grit.

It never rained in Eden,

Well maybe you’re living in it

And from the city to the slum, from the highland to the pit,

One year the rain wont come, and maybe this is it—

 

Maybe this is it.