Rain. The rain none wanted:
not the farmers whose hay
lay in the fields to dry;
nor we, gathered here as
we mumbled our goodbyes.
The earth’s silent embrace
waited. But there is no
sure and certain hope, no
mercy here, just birdsong;
and flowers and mute trees
and the rain, still the rain.
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 6:15 PM UTC
Rain. The rain none wanted:
not the farmers whose hay
lay in the fields to dry;
nor we, gathered here as
we mumbled our goodbyes.
The earth’s silent embrace
waited. But there is no
sure and certain hope, no
mercy here, just birdsong;
and flowers and mute trees
and the rain, still the rain.