Need of Solid Ground

He hadn’t offended God nor failed His Word
The way he worked, for there were only a few
Could match his efforts, he felt that so much sweat
Deserved return, a soaking rain, not dew.

He looked at the fields the frost had spit upon,
How much was a man called on these days to bear?
The black and wilted vines, the withered stalks,
He doubled up his fist and pummeled the air

Lamenting, then growled indifference to the threat
of ruined crops and shouldered his hurt aside.
Let God pile it on, he would make no more complaint
But laugh at the spear defeat thrust in his side.

He needed some solid ground on which to stand
Or a text to sustain him, but nothing he knew seemed pat.
He thought, Most men get along as best they can,
Well, it’s something, I guess, just to stand on that.