sweet baby stands by the well

even though there's no water in it

the wind is blowing hard like a slap

and mama is calling us home for dinner

an old wild cat hisses at us from a branch

and dark angry clouds rumble like mean ol' man Joe

missy takes a fist-size rock and heaves it at the cat

that black bastard yowls and sprints away to the barn

that's when I saw it

a small withered arm, dirt-brown, sticking out of the puddle

I pulled on it thinking it was a doll's arm

but it wasn't

it was as real as sweet baby's arm 

but it felt stick-hard and I knew there was no life in this baby

I yanked my hand back as fast as a jackrabbit chased by an old hound

and raced back home with missy and sweet baby in tow

I never said nothing to no one

that night I just ate my 'tatos and ham and washed it all down with lemonade

papa thought I was getting sick due to the chills and sweat on my face

but that wasn't it

I excused myself and went to bed and slept until the sun went down again...

ever since, I can still feel the teeny withered arm in my hand

-and see the tiny face poking out at me from the mud

tiny eyes starin' out at me forever over a sad line of a smile

and I knew it was asking me to help it

and I just ran...and ran...and tried to forget