Parents

Bred atop a dusty plain,
On farms with rusty steel,
Short rows of crops sprout up,
To provide a meager meal.

The sky is low, the sun has spread,
A travelling vision appears,
With dazzling songs of celebration,
For their two lives to steer.

Remembrance of them with caring heart,
Brings tears of love to my eyes,
See them dancing in the clouds,
No longer asking why.