Rain.
Fulfilling but consuming.
Each drop an enriching embrace,
Flooding the Earth with immense force and grace.

Grass.
Yearning to trace the stars,
Seeks to surpass its soil prison.
Rain—
its means to stardom.

Without rain,
Grass withers and fades.
Purposeless—
it drifts in the breeze.
Its dreams, to rest—laid.

Rain, the almighty redeemer.
Cascading into the crevasse—
A cause for rejoice.

Engulf me with your supple clutch
With each filament of my being, my soul, my spirit—
I plead—
Be my rain.

Your presence renders me mute,
My thoughts—
awash with ecstasy.
My mouth,
forever pursuing the right words,
But they’ll never come.
Your beauty, indescribable by man.
But the Birds?
They speak of you every day.

Your eyes—
a reflection of the branches that harbor them
Your hair—
a fresh moss,
basking in beams of morning light.
Your skin—
smooth as river stone,
resilient to the current’s embrace
Your touch—
a gentle breeze,
a flower’s bloom.

But your smile…
The birds speak nothing of it
For even nature is eclipsed by its radiance
Assuredly, the Sun longs to match its brilliance—
And fails.