Rustic land

Dry mouths permitted not.
A time and place, a bed, a slot.
The sun scorching the lips of God's children who have naught.
You caught the handful of coins as if they would grant wishes taught.
As others feel death knocking on their hearts broken bodies see the spirits inside.
It's time and place chosen so carefully.
Sometimes bitter at what they have not saved after a lifetime of giving.
Sometimes happy to help those falling on swords.
Some swords their own.
Others so gentle they do not look.